


Bleed It Dry

by insanechayne



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Starts around s4 probably, canon-divergence, level of gay: hella, look what the homosexuals have done to me, lots of gay, we have reached maximum gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insanechayne/pseuds/insanechayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's not a sin to fuck yourself."<br/>"I'm not gay."<br/>"I'm not jealous."<br/>"I'm not angry."<br/>These are the things they tell themselves so that they can get through one more day. These are the mantras they repeat so that they can live with themselves. <br/>Because sometimes the lies we tell ourselves are better than the realities we have to face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Animals

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this came out of nowhere and hit me right in the face a little earlier today, so I just had to write it out and bring it to fruition.  
> I personally have never seen anything involving Daryl/Murphy, so I really wanted to write something with that and explore it a bit.  
> So please enjoy.

It’s not a sin to fuck _yourself._ That’s what Murphy’s been telling himself for far too long, a justification to his actions so that he can continue to live with himself throughout the days. And it’s true, masturbation isn’t a sin. But what he’s been doing isn’t masturbation, and it’s most definitely a sin.

He’s used the excuse since he was about fourteen, when he and Connor first started their physical affair. He can’t really remember how they became what they are now; he just remembers how soft Connor’s lips felt against his own, how the pleasure welled up inside of him until he couldn’t contain it any longer, Connor’s name tumbling from his mouth in a harried cry of ecstasy as he came.

Connor has always been a part of him, his other half, the bearer of his soul. So the excuse seemed to fit well enough when they started coming to each other more regularly. It’s not a sin to fuck yourself, and Connor was one with Murphy; in a way Connor was Murphy’s self, as Murphy was Connor’s self. He stopped feeling guilty about their relationship a long time ago.

He uses the excuse now as Daryl Dixon bucks his hips up into Murphy at a frantic pace. Murphy knows he’s close to coming, and he focuses his eyes onto Daryl’s face, watching the way his eyes squeeze shut and his brows knit together, almost as if he’s embarrassed by his own pleasure. He knows that face well, because they’ve been doing this for a while now, a few months at least; it is the same face he makes when he falls off the edge.

It’s not a sin to fuck yourself, and Daryl looks so much like Murphy that they practically are the same person. It’s like looking in a fucking mirror every time they pass each other by, every time they come together and let the other tear them to pieces.

Daryl looks like Murphy, right down to the beauty mark above the left corner of his mouth, the stoic blue eyes that tried so hard to hide all their emotions, the wispy locks of hair that fell into his face and framed it oh so perfectly. The only differences are that Daryl has a thick southern drawl where Murphy has a light Irish brogue, Daryl is tan where Murphy is pale, and Daryl’s muscles are rock solid, his body toned and packed full of the hard, corded muscle, while Murphy is much more lean and lithe. Murphy is fluid motion while Daryl is solid stone.

But both of them like it that way. Daryl like Murphy’s “softness”, as he calls it, and Murphy’s always enjoyed looking at a nice, fit, tanned body. In a way, Daryl reminds Murphy of Connor, simply because their body types are so similar. And, of course, Daryl reminds Connor of Murphy, and there’s no question as to why.

Daryl’s back arches under him, his skull pushing into the slim prison pillow beneath it, and his fingers latch onto Murphy’s hips, the nails digging in deep. Murphy loves the bite of pain, wants to tell Daryl to make him bleed with those nails, but Daryl is about to come, and Murphy isn’t far behind.

Daryl makes a pretty picture when he falls apart, his lips parting slightly as he bares his teeth and clenches his jaw around a cry of pleasure, just barely managing to hold it in. His eyes remain closed, the edges crinkling as he squeezes them even tighter, his brows almost connecting at the center. Sweat beads his forehead, soaking into his hairline, the wisps around his face falling flat onto the pillow.

It’s easy to see why Connor so enjoys positions like this, ones where he will easily be able to see Murphy’s face, rather than doggie-style, which Murphy prefers. Because seeing Daryl completely collapse this way has Murphy coming, too.

Daryl eyes open just slightly as he finishes, releasing Murphy from his grasp. His hips and back rest on the bed once more, his chest heaving with panting breaths as he regains his composure.

Murphy knows the time has come for him to leave. He slides himself off of Daryl’s softening cock and grabs one of the redneck’s spare rags that he’s always carrying around, cleaning himself up before silently handing the little towel over to Daryl. He pulls on his boxers, then his blue jeans, then his black t-shirt, and finally his pea-coat, the same things he’s worn for too many years to count. He picks up his boots and just holds them, not in the mood to deal with putting them on.

Murphy turns to leave the cramped cell, his bare feet quietly slapping against the concrete floor as he moves.

“Hey,” Daryl calls from the bed.

Murphy turns back to see Daryl propped up on his elbow, his hair falling into his face and damn near covering his eyes. But Murphy can still see his eyes just clearly enough to see the unspoken emotion raging in the blue waters. A lump catches in Murphy’s throat, and he swears Daryl is about to say something they’ll both regret.

But then his eyes clear and he ducks his head slightly. “Thanks.”

Murphy just nods and then quickly exits the cell, heading back to the one who truly owns his body, back to Connor.

~ ~ ~

Connor is rough with Murphy, a rarity for their lovemaking, and Murphy has to remember to keep his cries quiet. Part of him wants to tell Connor to slow up a little, that he’s being a little bit _too_ rough and that it’s hurting a little too much, but another part of him is enjoying this far too much to try and put a stop to it.

Connor is usually so gentle with Murphy, so afraid that his brother will break under his fingertips if he uses even a breath too much pressure, but that isn’t the case tonight. Connor is all grabbing hands and thrusting hips and biting teeth; Murphy is going to be sore come morning.

Murphy knows that Connor is only acting this way because he knows that Murphy was with Daryl earlier in the day. Connor is jealous, though of him or Daryl, Murphy isn’t sure. Either answer is just as likely, just as probably, and Murphy figures it’s best not to dwell on which one of them is in the forefront of Connor’s mind right now, figures he’d be better off just enjoying the ride. They can talk things out later; they always do.

Connor’s teeth latch onto Murphy’s shoulder, biting hard enough to break the skin, and when Murphy feels Connor’s tongue swiping over the area he just bit into Murphy knows he’s bleeding. Something about that just seems to throw him right over the edge, and he quietly whimpers Connor’s name as he fists his cock, pumping himself roughly.

Connor mumbles Murphy’s name into his skin, gripping him tightly around the waist and pulling him back for one more good, deep thrust before he comes.

They are doing it doggie-style this time, Murphy’s favorite. Murphy vaguely wonders if Connor was trying to appease him because of how rough things got. Give the boy his favorite position, then make him regret why he loves it so much in the first place. Sounds about like something Connor would do.

Connor damn near collapses onto Murphy’s back, and Murphy definitely collapses underneath him, his stomach hitting the thin mattress with a quiet “oomf.” Connor lays on top of Murphy, both of them enjoying the closeness.

Connor kisses Murphy’s shoulders and the back of his neck, having to push up the scraggly ends of his hair to reach it. Murphy smiles into the mattress, basking in the afterglow of a good fuck and enjoying how tender Connor is being. Murphy always did enjoy being cuddled, and Connor is oh so good at cuddling. Part of Murphy wonders if Daryl likes cuddling, or if he’d be any good at it; he makes a mental note to find out sometime.

“Love ye, Murphy.” Connor’s whispered words tickle against Murphy’s ear.

Murphy’s body floods with warmth, the heat radiating outward from his chest and flowing into his veins. He’s heard Connor say those words thousands of times through the course of their lives, but he can never get used to the simple sentence. It still causes butterflies to flutter through his stomach and a blush to rise into his cheeks.

Because, at the end of the day, Murphy is utterly in love with Connor.

Connor rolls away from Murphy, onto his back beside his twin. His eyes never leave Murphy’s face, and he cards his fingers through the man’s too-long hair.

“I fucked Daryl today.” Murphy spits the words out, his eyes falling away from Connor’s. He needs Connor to know, needs to make sure there are no secrets between them whatsoever.

“I know.” Connor replies, his jaw clenching.

Of course Connor already knew. That’s why he fucked Murphy so hard just now. But Murphy needed to make sure, needed to lay all the cards out on the table. Connor is upset, as Murphy knew he would be, but he doesn’t say anything more, just keeps running his fingers through Murphy’s soft hair.

“Are you jealous?” Murphy asks, lifting his eyes to his twin’s face, trying to gauge his reaction.

“A bit.” Connor’s face has slipped into a mask of practiced neutrality, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Of Daryl or me?” Murphy bites his lip. He knows he owns Connor’s heart, but still he needs to hear him say it, needs the confirmation.

So Connor’s answer takes Murphy completely by surprise. “I don’t know.”


	2. I'm Losing Sight, Don't Count On Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so I decided to continue this thing, because a few people were asking me to.   
> Since I'm continuing it I'm going to add a few more tags to the work. Nothing major, though, so you don't really have to go checking them if you don't want to.   
> Hope you all enjoy this new chapter, and please give me some feedback on things, because I really need it.

Daryl’s not gay. He’s been having to remind himself of that fact far too often lately.

Daryl’s not gay; pickings are slim, is all. Not that many women around nowadays, and the ones that are around are too young or too old or too taken. The taken ones might be easy to go for, considering they’re the ones whose eyes seem to stray to him most of all, but with relationships being so hard to forge nowadays he wouldn’t want to be the reason why one goes belly-up. Besides, he’s not really close to anyone from the Woodbury portion of the group, and it’d take far too long for him to try and make friends with any of those little ladies enough to fuck them.

The only woman he’s ever had eyes for in his own group is Carol. They’ve been friends since the group was on Hershel’s farm, and with how much she was flirting with him the first night they were at the prison it only seemed right for him to, slowly, go after her. She made the first move, anyway, cupping his jaw in her gentle palm and leaning in to kiss him. She made it so easy for him to just take whatever he wanted, so that’s what he did.

But it didn’t feel quite right with Carol. There was something missing between them, something he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

The love was there; there was no shortage of that. He cared for her and she cared for him. The friendship was there, too. He was able to talk to her in a way he couldn’t talk to anybody else, save for Rick. Hell, he’d even saved her life a time or two; you don’t do that sort of thing unless you really like somebody in some way.

Still, Daryl feels a hell of a lot better pounding into Murphy’s ass than he does when he’s with Carol. Feels even better still when he’s taking it from Rick.

What he and Rick had was never planned; it just sort of fell into their laps. They were out in the woods, checking their traps for animals that had hopefully wandered in, when Rick just kissed him, right out nowhere. To this day Daryl doesn’t know why Rick kissed him, or what prompted him to do so. Sure, Daryl had been looking at Rick in a way that was more than friendly lately, but only when he was sure the sheriff wouldn’t notice.

So they stood there, the silence of the forest enveloping them, and they kissed. Rick wasn’t forceful, wasn’t trying to make Daryl kiss him back. Rick was tentative, cautious, as if he was certain he was about to get a swift pop in the mouth. But Daryl _had_ kissed him back, had eagerly let their mouths melt into one. And when Rick’s hands got a little bit too grabby, well, Daryl didn’t exactly push him away.

Daryl hasn’t gone back to Carol since.

Still, every day Daryl wakes up and repeats the mantra in his head, “I’m not gay, I’m not gay, I’m not gay.” And every day that gets disproven a little bit more.

It’s getting worse lately, though. Merle’s voice resounds in his head, taunting and tormenting him, cursing at him, telling him “not to be such a fuckin’ candy-ass, fer Christ’s sake.”

Merle has been dead for a long time now, but Daryl still hears him plain as day.

Sometimes Daryl pictures himself just grabbing his gun and swallowing a bullet because of it.

~ ~ ~

Rick holds Daryl that night, one arm wrapped loosely around his waist, the sheriff’s chest pressed against the redneck’s back. Rick seems content enough to just lie there with Daryl, pressing soft kisses against the man’s shoulder every once in a while.

Daryl lays there unmoving, his eyes wide open, his thoughts a raging torrent inside his head. He wants to tell Rick that he fucked Murphy today, somehow needs to tell Rick that, but he can’t push the words out of his throat. He is afraid of how Rick will react, afraid that Rick will be angry with him and kick him back to his own cell. He is afraid telling Rick will ruin what they have. He feels like a major dumbass for going and fucking it up in the first place.

Today wasn’t the first time they’d fucked either. Daryl and Murphy have lain together on more than one occasion over the past few months, both of them keeping it a secret from their significant other.

In fact, Daryl knows that Murphy and Connor are twin brothers with a little something extra, but he doesn’t care what they do with their personal lives, and he’s never been one to talk out of turn about other people’s affairs, anyway. They don’t talk about that side of things, just as they don’t talk about the fact that Daryl is with Rick, and neither of them should be straying towards the other. As long as Murphy and his brother don’t say a damn word to Rick about their goings-on, then Daryl won’t care enough to judge them.

Still, Daryl can’t help but think that he and Murphy are making a mistake, a huge one.

And in truth Daryl doesn’t know why he keeps fucking Murphy. Maybe it’s just because Murphy doesn’t try to cuddle and talk to him afterwards. Maybe it’s because Murphy’s easy.

Come to think of it, Murphy was the one that started things with Daryl, too. Just sauntered up to him one day in the guard tower, asked if he wanted to fuck.

_“I know yer up here alone on guard duty; was wonderin’ if ye wanted some comp’ny.” Murphy wiggles his eyebrows with a smirk, the same damn smirk Daryl gives Rick sometimes before they get down to business._

_“I’m not gay.” Daryl immediately responds, blowing out a huff of breath as he returns to watching the fields below._

_“Oh really? That why ye been sleepin’ in that cop’s cell, occasionally moanin’ his name and sayin’ ye want it harder?” Murphy steps into the room and closes the door behind him, taking care to lock it just in case anyone else comes around._

_Daryl turns and gives Murphy a glare. Murphy just continues to smirk._

_“I ain’t gonna tell yer boyfriend, ‘r no one else either. Got my own someone that I wouldn’t want findin’ out ‘bout this.” Murphy takes a step closer, gently lays his hand on Daryl’s shoulder; Daryl doesn’t bother to shrug him off._

_“Why would ya wanna fuck me, anyway, if ya already got someone?” Daryl grumbles, looking at Murphy from the corner of his eye._

_The boy is gorgeous, looks just like him, and he wonders if that’s what Rick sees when he looks into his eyes. Sure, Murphy’s just a little paler, and their hair styles aren’t quite the same, but if he kept his mouth shut he’d be a dead-ringer for Daryl; some part of Daryl is wildly aroused by that._

_“Let’s just say I want t’ find out what it’d be like t’ fuck myself.” Murphy’s smile grows down right dirty._

_They fuck twice in that guard tower that day, one taking a turn right after the other, both of them enjoying it a little more than they should, both of them wanting more._

“Everything alright?” Rick’s soft voice breaks Daryl from his reverie, and he turns slightly to see Rick looming over him, concern lining his features.

Daryl mumbles something sounding like “yeah” and Rick stares at him a moment longer before settling on the bed once more.

Daryl has to tell him what happened. Has to tell him what’s been happening. It’s the only way he’ll be able to live with himself from now on.

“Rick, I fucked Murphy today.” Daryl says the words quietly, speaking almost too fast.

Rick sighs. “I know.”

Daryl can’t help but be shocked. How could Rick know? Did someone spy on them, relay things back to Rick? He’s just about to ask when Rick speaks again.

“I’ve known for a while now. And I understand it, I guess. It must be kind of exciting to be with someone who looks just like you, like looking at a mirror when you guys… I get it, Daryl.”

Daryl can’t speak for a few minutes. Finally, “Are you angry?”

“I was at first. And I guess I’m still a little jealous now. But I figure relationships are too hard to come by right now, so what’s the big deal if you want to have a little fun on the side? As long as you always come back to me, I don’t really have much to worry about. I’m not about to break up with you over it, either. What good would that do? Just put us at odds, make things awkward for the rest of our lives? That’s not something I want.” Rick shakes his head, tightening his hold on Daryl’s waist. “I love you, Daryl. I don’t want to lose you over something this petty.”

Daryl is shocked more by Rick’s last sentence than by his reaction to the whole situation. No one’s ever said that to him before, except for Carol, and she meant it in a more friendly way. But this is different, anyway, because this is romantic love, and Daryl knows Rick isn’t lying about his feelings.

Rick really does love Daryl, enough to let him stray when he needs to and just wait around for him to come back. That strikes a chord deep inside of Daryl’s heart, and he doesn’t know quite how to react.

So he says the only thing he can say in this type of situation. “You’re never gonna lose me, Rick. Because I love you, too.”


	3. Madness In Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo two chapters for this fic done in one day, plus a chapter for my Dick AU. That's gotta be a record for me. I feel proud of myself.   
> Alright, so I'm kind of going with a theme here, sort of. Since the first chapter was more of a look at Murphy I made the second one about Daryl, and now we have the third about Connor, and the fourth will be about Rick.   
> If you're paying attention they all have a phrase that they tell themselves, too. Because they all need to find a way to live with themselves so they won't do something rash.   
> Just thought I'd point that out.   
> Anyway, please enjoy the new update.

Connor isn’t jealous. He tells himself that every night before he goes to bed just so that he can continue to lie beside his twin without shoving the other man onto the floor, or worse. He whispers the words to himself once he’s sure Murphy’s asleep, his fists clenching tightly and his nails digging into his palms, almost as if those words have become a holy prayer that he can throw up to the Lord when he needs the most help.

Connor isn’t jealous, not really. He’d just really like to take a knife to Daryl’s throat sometimes. In fact, he’d like more than anything to beat Daryl’s face in, ruin it forever, but that would be too much like hitting Murphy, and so he must control himself.

Sometimes, though, he’d like to take a knife to Murphy’s throat, too. Much as he loves his twin brother and knows that he would never do anything to actually injure him, Connor would love to just beat him to a pulp. Whether this is because Murphy has been fucking Daryl behind his back or because Connor would rather be the one fucking Daryl he isn’t sure.

And that frightens him a little bit, to not understand why he’s jealous, or who he’s jealous of. Because if he’s being honest with himself he really is jealous, he just really doesn’t want to admit it.

For the first time in his life, in both of their lives, Connor has found a reason to be jealous of Murphy.

Because Daryl Dixon is drop-dead gorgeous, just like Murphy. They look so alike you’d be hard-pressed to find a single person who didn’t think they really were identical twins somehow lost at birth. In fact, if Connor, Murphy, and Daryl stood next to each other you’d be hard-pressed to find a single person who would believe that Connor and Murphy are twins, even though that’s the truth.

And in a way it just isn’t fair that those two mirror-images are off fucking each other. Something about it seems more taboo than the fact that Connor and Murphy have been sleeping together since they were fourteen and they actually are of the same womb.

Connor lays there at night trying to picture what Murphy and Daryl’s lovemaking looks like. He’s certain that Daryl makes the same facial expressions as Murphy, but to see the two of them looking the same way at the same time… Well, Connor’s getting a little too close to the clasp on his jeans just thinking about it.

Connor isn’t jealous. He just hates the way Daryl’s name sounds on his brother’s lips. Because Murphy’s been talking in his sleep lately, a trait he had when he was a kid that somehow cleared up through his teen years and seems to have just resurfaced now.

Even now as Murphy tosses and turns beside Connor on their small mattress a whisper ghosts from his lips. _“Daryl.”_

What Connor wouldn’t give to know what Murphy is dreaming about right now. What Connor wouldn’t give to hear his own name tumbling from Murphy’s mouth during slumber. He used to hear it sometimes when they were kids. It was how they started sleeping together in the first place, though back then it was much more innocent.

Murphy would roll over on his bed and would say Connor’s name, and Connor would snap awake as if he’d been electrocuted. Murphy needed him, and he was always right there, ready to comfort his brother. But when he’d peer over at his twin he’d see the cherubic face perfectly smooth in his sleep, and Connor would feel a rush of heat flood through his body, because there was something mighty special in having Murphy dream about him. And then Connor would carefully slide into bed beside his brother, hold him close, whisper in his ear, all just to hear Murphy say his name that way again.

As they got older all Connor had to do to hear Murphy say his name that way would be to fuck him just right, hit the perfect spot, rub up on the boy’s cock a bit. Murphy would melt into whispers and cries of Connor’s name, and that would be enough to push Connor over the edge, too. Because the way Murphy said Connor’s name was incredible, like a drug he just couldn’t get enough of, something he needed injected straight into his bloodstream.

Truth be told that’s why he liked to top so much when they were together. Murphy didn’t seem to mind taking bottom, though; hell, he’d done it plenty of times for Daryl, too.

“Daryl.” Murphy mumbles again, his hand moving forward in that limp, disconnected way his limbs sometimes did when he was deep in dreams.

Murphy’s searching hand finds Connor’s waist, pulls slightly. Connor goes with the motion, not wanting to wake his brother.

Connor isn’t jealous. He just wants to find a way to make Murphy forget about Daryl forever, make him remember who his true love is. Because Connor loves Murphy unconditionally. He’s loved Murphy since the day they were born, and he’s never stopped, even now. He knows that they’re soul mates, fated to be together; that’s why they’re twins instead of just brothers, neither one older than the other except by a few minutes that don’t really matter.

Murphy used to know that fact better than anyone. Murphy never gave up on their love, even when Connor had refused to see it. Connor had rejected the idea at first, had convinced himself that he and Murphy just needed to get some girlfriends and that would cure Murphy’s nonsensical talk. But one girl after another had come and gone in Connor’s life and he never felt satisfied, never felt quite right. Soon enough Murphy’s nonsensical talk was starting to sound just a little bit more logical. And when Connor finally saw what Murphy had known all along it had been perfect, bliss. Murphy was happier than he’d been his whole life, and Connor was on top of the world.

So when had the tables turned? When did Connor become the one to fight for their love while Murphy strayed from the truth? Why did the one to figure out their relationship suddenly want to destroy it?

Connor sniffles quietly, wiping a tear from his eye. In a way he understands why Murphy is straying. He’d probably have made a move on Dixon if Murphy hadn’t beaten him to the punch, and then he’d be the one doing a hell of a lot of apologizing while Murphy admitted to his jealousy. He knows it must be intriguing to be with someone who looks so much like you, to see yourself through someone else’s eyes, in a way. But fuck if it doesn’t hurt like a bullet lodging itself straight through his chest.

Connor is jealous. And now he can’t sleep.


	4. I Can Tell By Your Smile You're Coming Undone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now we've sort of come full circle, getting a look at all four of the men's thoughts and what they like to tell themselves.   
> I might continue in this vein of writing, where each chapter focuses more on one specific character than another (in the same order of Murphy, Daryl, Connor, Rick). We'll see how well that pans out for future chapters.   
> If you have any ideas or suggestions for where this fic should go please let me know by leaving a comment. I don't really have anything figured out for this fic yet other than a lot of angst and drama. 
> 
> Alright, enjoy the chapter.

Rick isn’t angry. He says that to himself every time he looks at Murphy’s face, or at Daryl’s, for that matter; the two look so alike they’re practically interchangeable now. If they kept their mouths shut they really would be the same person, except they wouldn’t be either.

Because Daryl is still rough around the edges, unable to gracefully accept a compliment or a statement of gratitude, still a hunter and a man who lost his brother, someone who doesn’t want to accept who he really is. Whereas Murphy is exuberant, buoyant in even the most dire of circumstances, a cold-blooded killer who still has his brother, someone who has fully embraced who and what he is without complaint; hell, Murphy flaunts it, even.

Rick isn’t angry. He just wants to give Murphy a good punch to the jaw, take him down the way he took Tyreese down a few days ago, tell him to stay the hell away from Daryl for the rest of their presumably-short lives.

Because Murphy is the problem here, not Daryl. Murphy was the one who went and flirted it up with Daryl, tempted Daryl; Daryl never would have made a move on Murphy had the tables been turned, he was too shy for that kind of thing. Murphy was the serpent here, and Daryl made a perfect Eve: one bite of the tempter’s fruit and he was hooked.

Rick sighs and rubs at his bruised fist, still wrapped up in bandages. He has a nasty temper, but he’s pretty good at keeping it in check. He still doesn’t know why he took things so far with Tyreese. He could have easily overlooked Tyreese’s punches; not like they’d hurt that much, anyway. But something inside of him snapped and he just acted. He didn’t think, he did, lunging at Tyreese like an animal and beating him damn near six feet under. Daryl was the one pulled him off, brought him back to reality, back to himself. One look into Daryl’s perfect baby blues and Rick’s temper had ebbed completely, because he could see the shock and disappointment shining through Daryl’s eyes clear as day.

Was that when Daryl had decided to run around with Murphy? When he saw that Rick was still halfway to crazy and he could snap at any time?

Murphy was probably more stable than Rick, or at least he seemed to be. Maybe Daryl needed that stability from time to time, something to keep him balanced so that he could stay with Rick without any problems coming between them. Except that Daryl going to Murphy in the first place was a problem, a big one.

Rick isn’t angry. He’d just like to beat Daryl into the ground for what he’s done. He wants to take his fists to the man’s face over and over again until all he can see is blood, bright and wet and sticky, pouring from every place possible. He wants to take out his Colt, shove it right between Daryl’s lips, ask him if the barrel of the gun tastes better than Murphy, then just squeeze the trigger and let it be over, let it all be over.

Rick worked long and hard for the relationship he and Daryl have now. Why should some little flamer come along and ruin what they have? Maybe it should be Murphy’s lips he shoves that gun between.

Rick’s not going to share Daryl with anybody. Except he is. Because he can’t control Daryl, can’t stop him from doing whatever he damn well pleases. Putting a leash on Daryl, telling him he can’t see Murphy anymore, would just push a wedge even further between them. Daryl doesn’t take kindly to people telling him what he can and cannot do, and if someone tells Daryl he can’t do something he’ll just go out and show them that he damn well can. And if Daryl wants to fuck Murphy there’s nothing Rick can do to stop it, short of kicking the man out of his bed completely, and Rick doubts he could handle that.

Rick is in love with Daryl. He’s known that for a while now. There was something about him, something present even on the day they first met back in Atlanta. Daryl wasn’t as fit then, had a little more meat on his bones and his hair was a lot shorter, but he was still fucking gorgeous. He’d come up to the few of them gathered around a walker eating a dear, covered in dirt and sweat, crossbow in his hands and squirrels on his belt, completely out of place among the members left over from polite society. But Rick had seen something different, something just under the surface of Daryl’s eyes; Daryl had been putting on a front the whole time, trying to keep people from getting close to him, because of how his past had been. And Rick understood that, because he’d been putting on a front every day since the group appointed him to be their leader; he didn’t have a damn clue what he was doing or how to do it, he just did it because he had to.

They’ve come a long way since then. Daryl’s grown a little softer, a little calmer, a little more reserved. He won’t throw squirrels in your face anymore, won’t close himself off from the group, or from Rick. But he still finds new ways to shut Rick out, whether he means to or not, and one of those ways is fucking Murphy.

And Rick just wants to cry when he thinks about the two of them together. Because Daryl was the one to pick up the pieces of his shattered soul and put him back together. Daryl was there when Shane died, filling in the position of second command as if it’d been his title all along. Daryl was there when Lori died and Judith was born and Rick went wandering Crazy Town, making sure the baby got fed, making sure the rest of the group was taken care of, making sure Rick didn’t go off and kill himself or get himself killed. Daryl had been there through it all, keeping Rick steady and sane and on his feet. Rick didn’t know what he’d do if Daryl left him completely; probably swallow a bullet.

Rick isn’t angry. His smile’s just broken, a shadow of the thing it once was. There is no joy left when he smiles now, no happiness lingering over his lips when they stretch into the familiar curved-up shape. Even as he holds his baby daughter the smile on his lips is fake, because much as he loves Judith she can never give him all that Daryl has given him.

Daryl was the only person who could make him smile with any amount of genuine-ness, and now it seems that the reason for his joy wants to become the reason for his sorrow.

Rick isn’t angry. He just can’t afford to lose Daryl. And he’ll keep them together, by whatever means necessary.


	5. Take Me Under

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a different turn than I thought it would, but fuck if I'm not hella proud of it.   
> Enjoy.

Murphy wakes to an empty bed and cold sheets.

He keeps his eyes closed as his hand lazily searches the area of mattress beside him, expecting to find Connor right there next to him, expecting Connor to take his hand and hold it like he does every other morning since they’ve been something more. But it only takes Murphy a split second to realize that Connor isn’t there.

Murphy’s eyes shoot open and he darts up in bed as if he’s just been electrocuted, his head swinging every-which-way to try and find Connor. He moves too fast and his head flares vertigo, but he manages to keep upright through sheer force of will.

“Connor?” He softly calls out, wondering if maybe his brother has just moved to the top bunk.

He wouldn’t be upset with Connor for sleeping apart with him that way. He knew that Connor was upset and jealous about his tryst with Daryl; maybe Connor just needed to cool off for a few hours, not share a bed with Murphy. Murphy could have easily accepted that explanation and it wouldn’t have bothered him in the least.

But there is no response from his twin, and this bothers him greatly.

Sometime during the night Connor unwrapped himself from Murphy’s sleeping form and left the cell, to go where and do what Murphy didn’t know. All Murphy knew now was that Connor wasn’t there when he woke up, and that fucking hurt.

Murphy feels like crying, feels like just curling into a ball on the cool sheets and sobbing his eyes out. He knows that his crying will bring his brother running, because Connor and he share a sixth sense of sorts; Connor can feel when Murphy’s hurting or when he’s being hurt, and vice-versa. But that isn’t why Murphy wants to cry now. Murphy wants to cry because he realizes now that he’s fucked up the best thing in his life, his relationship with his lover, his twin, his Connor.

He wonders if some part of him knew that before, and he just didn’t want to admit it to himself. Was Daryl really worth it? Was Daryl worth forsaking Connor? Connor would never leave him, never hurt him, especially not now in this world they’ve been thrust into. Connor would pull Murphy even tighter now that there was death surrounding them at every turn, if only Murphy would have let him.

Connor tried, too, and that’s what hurts the most. Connor tried so hard to keep Murphy happy and safe and by his side, tried so hard to make Murphy see just how much he truly loved and adored him, and Murphy just threw it all away without a care. Connor tried to wrap his arms around Murphy, pull him in tight, bring them closer together, and Murphy had shoved him so far backward that Connor didn’t even want to share the bed with him anymore.

Who was to say that Connor wouldn’t go off and find someone else now, too? An eye for an eye, that’s the code they always lived by, no matter the situation. It would be more than fair for Connor to get his own friend-with-benefits as Murphy had done. Maybe Connor would even go after a woman now; Connor had still liked women even after he had given his heart to Murphy, it was just something in the way he was wired. Murphy never faulted Connor for that, and often let Connor bring a girl home, or at least go off with one when he really needed to.

But Murphy knows that it would hurt so much worse if Connor were to go off and actually find a woman to screw around with. He wouldn’t have just been replaced then, he would have been completely obliterated in Connor’s mind. Because the only thing Murphy and a woman have in common is the fact that they usually like something hard and thick in them every once in a while.

Murphy lets himself break down, lets himself curl into a ball, lets himself cry. Because he knows he can never fix this. Because he knows he will never be able to stop himself from seeing Daryl. Daryl is like a drug to him now, and he can’t live without the other man.

He tells himself that he’d be able to give Daryl up for Connor, if that’s what had to happen. But deep down he isn’t really sure.

~ ~ ~

Somewhere across the prison Connor feels a familiar pang settle itself deep into his chest. Murphy is hurting, Murphy is in pain, Murphy is crying, Murphy needs him.

Connor ignores the feeling and goes back to his business.

~ ~ ~

Murphy lays beside Daryl, the two of them fitting more comfortably on the slim prison bunk than Murphy and Connor do, than Daryl and Rick do, because of their almost identical body types. They remain silent, both of them needing to say something, neither of them exactly sure what that something should be.

Murphy longs to reach out and touch Daryl like he does with Connor. He wants to run his fingers along the man’s chest, twirl them into the sparse patch of hair just below his belly-button. He just wants to feel Daryl’s skin, warm and soft beneath his fingertips. He refrains because he can just tell that Daryl won’t like that sort of thing.

Daryl’s too rough around the edges for that sort of soft, romantic shit. He’s all about action, not words or emotions. Tell him you want to fuck him, he’ll tell you to just do it already ‘stead of talkin’ about it so damn much. Actions, not words.

Daryl needs that action, that movement. He needs the control that actually going about and _doing things_ brings him, because he knows all too well how easily said control can be taken away by not doing what you should, or by doing something you shouldn’t. He’s learned the hard way that words mean nothing.

Actions, not words.

Murphy can’t help himself, though. He needs to feel something other than sex. Needs to feel the life of the man beside him tingling through his body, soaking into his fingers and palms. Because he likes Daryl, a lot more than he should, a lot more than he wants to, and sex isn’t enough to satiate his hunger for the redneck.

So Murphy reaches out, slowly, and places his hand cautiously on Daryl’s chest. He can feel Daryl’s eyes snap open and lock on his face, but he can’t meet the man’s gaze. His fingers are gentle as he swirls them over Daryl’s pectorals, and then down his abdomen.

“What’re you doin’?” Daryl asks right as Murphy’s fingers find that soft patch of hair below his belly-button.

Murphy immediately retracts his hand. “Sorry, I just… Sometimes I like t’ touch the person ‘m fuckin’ afterwards. Not sure why, really. I do that with Connor, too.”

Murphy shrugs, trying to blow off the whole ordeal as if it’s nothing, and thankfully Daryl doesn’t say anything else about it.

However, Daryl does prop himself up on his elbow so that he’s looking down at Murphy, his eyes burning with an intensity that both hypnotizes Murphy and makes him feel like he needs to look away. Daryl’s eyes are no longer water, but rather fire; his eyes are pure blue flame, burning into Murphy, charring a hole right through him.

“Connor knows ‘bout us.” Daryl says, his eyes never moving from Murphy’s.

Murphy is about to ask how Daryl knows that, is about to ask if Connor approached him. But what actually comes out of Murphy’s mouth is, “Rick does, too.”

Neither of them speak, because somehow neither of them need to.

Daryl’s mouth crashes down onto Murphy’s, a wild tide falling upon the shore, swallowing Murphy’s lips with a passion that Murphy can’t match, but can only be consumed by. Murphy lets himself be dragged down by the current that is Daryl, lets himself drown there.


	6. Don't Let Me Drown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having a lot of trouble writing out this chapter earlier, but then I took a break from it and came back to it an hour ago and the clouds parted and it came out perfectly. I'm really proud of the turn this took and the overall development that it's giving the story. Things are really heating up, and it's so much fun to write.   
> So I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Daryl looms over Murphy, his lips rough and forceful against Murphy’s own. There is a storm raging inside of him, one that he was never even aware he harbored, and now it’s battering against him like a damn hurricane. He is being swept away by the raging waves inside of his heart, and he is taking Murphy down with him.

Daryl’s hands find their way to Murphy’s sides, fingers digging deep into skin as he pulls the man even closer, pulling them flush against each other. His nails scratch along Murphy’s hips a little too roughly, bringing blood, but Murphy makes no move to get away, makes no sound of protest. Murphy actually seems to be enjoying this, soft little whimpers of pleasure resounding from his throat to Daryl’s ears; hearing those sounds drives Daryl wild.

Daryl’s tongue darts from between his lips and finds its way to Murphy’s, barely having to touch Murphy’s lips before Murphy parts them and invites him inside. Daryl’s tongue quickly finds Murphy’s and then he’s sucking it into his mouth, breaking their kiss. Murphy moans, squirming in Daryl’s grip, and Daryl can’t help but smirk.

Murphy makes him feel things that no other person in the world can. Being able to make Murphy whimper and writhe around is incredible. To know that he is bringing someone such pleasure that they can’t control their sounds or the way their body moves gives him a rush that he can never get enough of.

Maybe that’s why he can’t stop seeing Murphy, why he won’t stop seeing Murphy. Because he can make Murphy do things that he can’t make Rick do. Because Murphy gives back everything received in spades.

Things are different with Rick. Daryl loves Rick. He always has and he always will. But he’s never heard these kinds of sounds coming out of Rick before, never made Rick’s fists clench too-tightly against the bed sheets, never made Rick’s entire body vibrate with need. He can’t satisfy Rick the way he can satisfy Murphy, and that’s not from lack of trying.

Daryl returns his mouth to Murphy’s, letting their tongues dance idly as they kiss, lips molding together as if they are one being. Murphy doesn’t refrain from sliding his hands up Daryl’s back, but for once Daryl doesn’t mind, doesn’t feel self-conscious; he actually likes the way Murphy’s fingers feel as they explore his skin, likes the way Murphy makes him tingle all over like he’s made of free-flowing electricity.

Daryl moves his hands under Murphy’s legs, lifting the man’s thighs and parting them. They fucked maybe twenty minutes ago, if either of them were keeping count, but both of them are more than ready for round two. Murphy is so hot and bothered that he keeps pushing his ass closer to Daryl’s crotch, presenting himself the best way he can in the positions they’re in. And Daryl is more than willing to accept the offer.

Daryl lifts Murphy’s hips slightly, just enough to get his ass where it needs to be, and then he pushes in. He meets minimal resistance, and then he is sliding inside again, and both men are moaning into each other’s mouths.

Murphy wraps his arms around Daryl’s lower back, laces his fingers together, and pulls the man forward until he can’t go any further. Daryl stays still for a moment, just holding Murphy as they both adjust, their lips remaining connected. And then he begins to grind slowly into Murphy’s heat, pulling out just to go right back in.

Daryl’s intensity has ebbed for the moment, but it is still there under the surface, raging and building; both men can feel it through their kisses, through their touches, something charging through them and making their blood boil.

Daryl finally releases Murphy’s mouth and leans back, his ass almost touching his calves, bringing Murphy with him. Daryl holds Murphy’s hips firmly, pulling the man down every time he thrusts upward, hitting that special spot inside of Murphy each time.

Murphy is resting on his elbows, his feet not-quite-planted on the bed, watching Daryl work over him. Daryl’s eyes have that same burning intensity in them, and it only seems to grow as Daryl’s eyes lock onto Murphy’s. Murphy is moaning and gasping in ragged little pants of breath, his cock jumping each time Daryl hits that perfect spot.

Murphy is drowning in the pleasure, drowning in Daryl, and he loves every second of it.

The raging storm inside of Daryl builds itself up once more, and suddenly he is flipping Murphy onto his stomach. Murphy attempts to get onto his knees, but Daryl places a hand on his back, pushes him down to the mattress. Daryl spreads Murphy’s legs to his liking and then nestles between them, slithering down so low that his chest is practically on top of Murphy’s.

And then he’s inside Murphy once more, thrusting his hips with as much force as he possibly can, driving Murphy’s body into the mattress again and again. He grunts every so often, growling out his pleasure instead of moaning it now, and fists Murphy’s hair. He pulls Murphy’s head up, somehow needing to hear the boy’s cries of pleasure, and then sinks his teeth into Murphy’s throat.

Daryl no longer cares who he belongs to, who Murphy belongs to. Because right now they belong to each other, and it’s likely to stay that way for a long time to come. So he marks Murphy’s throat, claiming his territory. He bites down hard into Murphy’s flesh, like an animal, tasting blood on his tongue, and he swears Murphy’s cries and get louder. And Daryl finally moans, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep in his throat and travelling upwards, into Murphy’s bloodstream.

The hand in Murphy’s hair tightens, the teeth at Murphy’s throat bite down even harder, and the cock thrusting into Murphy’s ass somehow manages to thrust in deeper. It is pain and pleasure mixed together in the perfect duet, and Murphy’s muscles seemed to have all turned into jelly; all he can do is grip the sheets tightly in his fingers and moan and whimper. He attempts to push his ass backward to meet Daryl’s thrusts, but there is no need for that, because Daryl is there, Daryl is always there.

And somehow, through the haze of ecstasy flooding his brain, Murphy feels tears rolling down his cheeks. He is crying, but he has no idea why. And right now it doesn’t matter.

Daryl is close to the edge, and he pulls his mouth back from Murphy’s throat, his jaw clenching together as he breaths out Murphy’s name. He has spoken Rick’s name during sex before, has cried it out against the man’s skin even, but Murphy’s name seems to roll right off his tongue in a way that Rick’s can’t. Murphy’s name feels like home to Daryl’s tongue. So he repeats it, over and over again, a whisper building into a shout until he is practically screaming it. He knows that anyone who happens to be in this part of the cell block right now, and most likely anyone in the surrounding area, will be able to hear him, but he can’t care about that right now.

Nothing else matters but the heat around his cock and the man writhing underneath him, the man who is whimpering out his name in such a way that makes his heart beat faster and his blood flash-burn through his veins. He has just a split second to wonder if Murphy says Connor’s name that way, too, but then Murphy’s muscles clench around him and he is coming. He bites down on Murphy’s shoulder, stifling the scream building in his throat.

Murphy isn’t far behind, his toes curling against the mattress, his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the sheets, his throat raw from how loud he’s crying Daryl’s name.

Daryl slumps down onto Murphy’s back, his chest heaving as he gasps down breaths that barely reach his lungs. His hair flows around his shoulders, tickling Murphy’s skin where it brushes against him.

Murphy lets his face fall against the mattress, panting around sheets and sweat, as his body calms. More tears flow from his eyes, two waterfalls that he cannot control. A sob catches in his throat, but he forces it back down, not wanting to alert Daryl to his odd behavior.

But Daryl hears the hitching of Murphy’s breath, and gently eases out of him. He carefully turns the man onto his back, and that’s when he sees the tears. Murphy’s eyes are completely glazed over with the watery sheen, the blues standing out so beautifully that Daryl can’t look away from them.

Daryl wants to ask what’s wrong, but he’s not good at words, so he simply reaches out and brushes Murphy’s bangs back. It is a simple gesture, but it seems to help.

Murphy stares up at Daryl through his tears, and he feels like he’s just been torn apart after being caught in a hurricane. He is the aftermath of such a disaster, broken and bleeding, drowning.

Something has changed between them. Something has snapped inside of Murphy while something else has come together inside of Daryl.

Both of them know that they can never stop this affair that they are having, because neither will have enough strength to be apart from the other. Both of them know that they can never go back to their former lovers’ beds in good conscience, because not only would that hurt their former lover too much, but it would hurt them too much. They need to be together now, need to lay beside each other and hold each other, need the warmth gained from the other person’s love.

Daryl sees Murphy’s lips moving, but hears no sound. He is instantly flooded with worry, and he gives Murphy’s shoulder a gentle shake. “What’s wrong, Murphy?”

Murphy clears his throat, his eyes locking onto Daryl’s once more. “I’m drowning, Daryl.”

Daryl knows that statement is supposed to be confusing, but somehow he understands what Murphy is saying perfectly. Murphy is drowning in his own confusion, in his need, in his lust; Murphy is drowning in Daryl as he once drowned in Connor.

Daryl brushes Murphy’s hair back and leans down, pressing their foreheads together. He’s going to make sure he doesn’t fuck up his relationship with Murphy as he fucked it up so many times with Rick. He’s going to do things right this time.

“I ain’t gonna let you drown, Murphy.”

And then he presses his lips to Murphy’s, his kiss gentle and giving, pulling Murphy up from the depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters won't follow this timeline. They're going to go back to earlier in the same day and what happened before Murphy and Daryl came to each other again. I just wanted to prepare everyone for that, and I'll remind you in the beginning notes for each chapter when I get them written and posted.


	7. Give In, Give In To Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter doesn't follow the timeline of the previous two. This one follows Connor when he leaves Murphy in the cell that morning, and explains what Daryl meant when he said "Connor knows about us."  
> The next one will be like this one, except it will follow Rick.   
> Enjoy.

Connor doesn’t sleep at all. Instead he lays awake beside Murphy, letting the man hold him with tainted hands while he whispers Daryl’s name in his dreams. Every time Murphy utters that word it cuts Connor just a little bit deeper until he can no longer take the pain. He can’t be around Murphy right now, and that frightens him, too, because he has never once felt the need to be away from his twin.

Part of him feels guilty for that, even though he’s not the one who’s been slinking around, fucking other guys in watch towers and empty prison cells every chance he gets. He has nothing to feel guilty about, and yet he still does. Because Murphy will always be his twin, his flesh and blood, the other half of his soul, and to not want him around is to almost not want to exist himself.

Connor untangles himself from Murphy’s limp grasp and leaves anyway.

The sounds of walkers groaning and milling about greets him as he quietly exits the prison, the barely rising sun just starting to throw rays of gold over the horizon. The air is brisk and fresh, and dew is visible on the plants in the garden and all the grass that surrounds the buildings.

Connor walks slowly, aimlessly, passing the guard towers and garden and the fences. He stops when he reaches the makeshift cemetery, his eyes moving from one wooden cross to the next.

He doesn’t know the people buried here, but he is no stranger to loss. He can still vividly see each person’s death behind his eyes, can still remember their final moments with perfect clarity.

Rocco was the first, the one that still hits the hardest. There was so much blood. It covered his face, dripped from his sweaty bangs, soaked his white shirt. Connor can hear the sound of the gunshot, the way it rang through the small space they were enclosed in. He can see Rocco’s body, still locked to that chair, flying backward and hitting the concrete, Murphy following not far behind. He remembers Rocco’s final words: _You can’t stop. You’ll get out of here. Don’t ever stop._ They never did stop, not completely. They served his memory well, paid him a respectable tribute.

Greenly was next. That one stings like hell, too. The way he just seemed to explode, there one second and gone the next, though he was still solid when he hit the floor, still somewhat there. The blood spewed from his mouth in little rivulets, the flow gushing from his chest like a fucking flood, as if a dam had burst. _Proudest day of my life._ Even at the end of it all Greenly had kept the faith, had made him and Murphy see that what they were doing was right. Connor cried then, holding Greenly’s hand, his grip non-existent. He had cried for Rocco, too, but it was different then. He’d had to put the sorrow aside to finish the mission. But with Greenly he’d had just enough space to mourn, just enough time to cry for the fallen soldier.

Da was the third. Connor didn’t even know where the bullets hit his father, he just knew the man was dying in his and Murphy’s arms. _Look, boys. It’s so beautiful._ Connor hadn’t even really known the man and yet he’d sobbed, long and hard, his twin doing the same. And after all was said and done he’d snatched up the picture hidden under his Da’s hat, the one of him and Murphy as babies in their mother, Annabelle’s, arms. He’d taken that picture, folded it, and shoved it into the pocket of his bloodstained jeans. Murphy hadn’t even noticed the damn thing was there, and maybe that was for the best.

Doc came after that, after Smecker and Eunice had broken the boys out of the Hoag. His heart just gave out one day, and he dropped dead right in the middle of a Thursday night in his bar. Connor, Murphy, and Romeo hadn’t been there; they’d only heard about the incident through the grapevine. Connor often wondered what Doc’s last words had been, what his last thought had been.

Romeo was the last, the most recent, the most vivid. Before they’d gotten to the prison they’d been moving around from one place to another, sometimes taking refuge in abandoned houses or rundown apartments, sometimes in mostly empty stores, sometimes just in the back of whatever car they could safely open. They’d been trying to clear out a store for long-term use, but they’d underestimated the amount of walkers inside the building. They’d gotten careless after weeks of minimal interaction with the monsters, and it had cost Romeo his life. Romeo had been pulled into the sea of walkers, a harried cry bursting from his lips as they bit into his flesh. Murphy had wanted to try to save him; Connor knew there was nothing left to save.

Connor drops his head into his hands, lets himself cry. He’s lost everyone who’s ever been important to him, everyone but Murphy. Except he has lost Murphy, in a sense. He’s lost Murphy not to death or disease or disappearance, but to another man, and he thinks that hurts worse than Murphy’s death would, because not only is it a loss but a betrayal, as well.

Connor shakes his head, trying to clear his head of such thoughts. He hasn’t lost Murphy. Murphy isn’t dead or missing. Murphy is back in that prison, in the bed they share, sleeping peacefully.

And then Connor gets hit with a pain so fierce it drops him to his knees. It’s like a bullet shooting straight through his heart and then spreading its poison outward to the rest of his body. Murphy is in pain, Murphy is hurting, Murphy is crying, Murphy needs him.

He longs to run to his brother, wrap him into a tight hug, tell him everything will be alright. He wants to kiss Murphy’s hair and tell him he loves him still, that he’ll always love him no matter what he does, that he’ll always be right there beside him, waiting for him, no matter how many times he fucks Daryl.

But Connor knows that Murphy is expecting him to do this. Murphy is sending out a signal, trying to get him to come back, trying to lull him into a false sense of security. Connor knows better now, after all that’s happened between them, after the way Murphy’s been saying Daryl’s name in his sleep. Murphy will never stop seeing Daryl, no matter how much it hurts Connor.

So Connor ignores the call, ignores his brother’s pain and vicious need. He pulls himself to his feet, clenches his fists and his jaw, squeezes his eyes shut, breathes deeply through his nose.

He cannot go to his twin. He has business to attend to.

~ ~ ~

Connor rounds the corner to the small area the group has converted into a sort of parking-lot. It is quiet, peaceful, still blocked from the sun’s view by the building beside it. There is no one here aside from Connor and the one lone figure standing by the mint-green Hyundai, smoking a cigarette.

“Whoever’s lurkin’ over there best just come on out, ‘cause I already know you’re there.” Daryl calls out, his voice pitched low enough that it won’t attract walkers or other unwanted members of the group.

A small smile graces Connor’s lips. He should have known that he wouldn’t be able to sneak up on Daryl.

“Figured I’d find ye here.” Connor says as he casually walks over to Daryl.

Daryl’s eyes cut across the small expanse of space, finding Connor in his sights. Truth be told, Connor is the last person he’d expect to be trying to have a private discussion with him. At the same time, though, he should have known this would be coming sooner or later, what with his and Murphy’s carryings-on.

“Whatcha want, Connor?” Daryl asks, taking a long drag on the cigarette resting at the corner of his lips.

Connor shrugs, coming to stand in front of Daryl. “Just wanna talk.”

That earns him a glare, but he just grins.

“So talk.” Daryl spits out, turning his gaze to the forest beyond.

“I know ye and Murphy have been fuckin’ behind my back. Know ye got that ex-cop labeled as your ‘steady’, too. By the way, ye got an extra smoke on ye?” Connor tries to lighten the conversation by asking for a cigarette, tries to make the other man stop glaring at him and ease up a little bit.

Daryl doesn’t speak, simply pulls the crushed pack out of his pocket and offers it to Connor. Connor pulls a cigarette from the box, taking the lighter Daryl has offered in his other hand right after. He lights up, barely managing to hold in a moan as the smoke hits his tongue; it’s been far too long since he’s had a cigarette.

Daryl takes back his pack and lighter, regards the other man as if he doesn’t quite know what to make of him. Connor doesn’t say a word, opting to just let the other man stare at him for a while.

Finally, Daryl pipes up. “So what, ya come here t’ tell me not to fuck yer boyfriend no more?”

Connor smirks as he exhales a plume of smoke. “Not exactly.”

“Then what are ya here for? Ya plannin’ on tellin’ Rick, get him t’ try an’ put a stop to things?”

Connor chuckles and shakes his head. “M not really the tattlin’ type, Daryl.”

Daryl quirks an eyebrow, flicking his cigarette butt into the gravel beyond. “So ya just came down here t’ bum a smoke offa me, make a lil’ mornin’ chit-chat?”

“Well, the cigarette is a nice bonus, but no, I didn’t come down here just t’ chit-chat with ye. I do have somethin’ I wanna say. Guess ‘m just figuring out how t’ word it properly.” Connor takes another inhale, blowing the smoke out through his nostrils.

The two men stand in silence for a few moments as Connor finishes the cigarette, flicks the butt in the same area that Daryl threw his.

Finally, Connor speaks. “M not gonna say it doesn’t bother me that you’re fuckin’ Murphy, because it does. But he seems… happier since the two of ye started hookin’ up. Been saying your fucking name in his sleep for Christ’s sake.” Connor pauses, taking a deep breath to keep from crying. “I guess I just want him t’ be happy. An’ if he’s happy with you, then I can overlook the fact that the both of ye are filthy cheaters.”

Connor looks away, out toward a walker that he can see just beyond the fence. It gives him something to focus on while he gathers his thoughts, while he builds up his courage.

His eyes come back to Daryl’s, some unspoken emotion raging just under the surface. “But I think that maybe, Daryl, ye should think ‘bout expandin’ your horizons.”

Daryl snorts. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Ye know what me an’ Murph did in our former lives, Daryl? We killed people. ‘Evil men; dead men’, that was our motto.” Connor smirks, something evil and angelic all at the same time. “If I wanted t’ put a stop this affair you two are having it wouldn’t exactly be hard. I coulda stopped it a long time ago, but I didn’t for Murph’s sake.”

Daryl’s eyes narrow into slits, his lips pressing together in a hard line. “Are you fucking threatin’ me?”

Connor chuckles, shaking his head. “Not at all, Daryl.”

“Then what the fuck’s the point here, ‘cause if you’re done I got somewhere else t’ be.” Daryl straightens himself fully, squaring his shoulders.

Connor’s eyes lock onto Daryl’s for a few seconds. Actions speak louder than words, and Connor’s never been very good at words, anyway. So he’ll have to show Daryl what he means; he just hopes that Daryl won’t do something rash and stupid in response.

So quick that Daryl barely registers the movement, Connor leans forward and presses a kiss to Daryl’s lips. He stays there for several seconds, keeping them locked together, wondering if Daryl will kiss back, or try to hit him, or do anything at all.

But Daryl has been stunned into stillness. He can feel Connor’s lips against his own, and finds that it’s not an unpleasant feeling. He just can’t make himself kiss back, can’t get thoughts of Murphy out of his head. And that’s the real kicker: he’s thinking about Murphy when he should be thinking about Rick.

Connor pulls back, his eyes sparkling, a grin curving his lips. “Broaden your horizons. Think about it.”

And then he turns and walks back the way he came, leaving Daryl to his raging thoughts.


	8. No Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with the previous chapter, this doesn't follow the same timeline as chapters 5 and 6. This happens the morning before those chapters take place. This chapter is occurring right about the same time as Connor and Daryl's encounter from the previous chapter. 
> 
> In other news, this fic keeps taking turns that I haven't been expecting. Like I'll have a very vague idea in mind about where I want a chapter to go, and it goes in a completely different direction and ends up better than what I had planned. I guess that's how you know a story's good, right? 
> 
> Also, I'm making the official song for this fic Like Sugar by Matchbox Twenty. The lyrics fit the story so perfectly. Just wanted to tell you all that; you should give the song a listen. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the new chapter.

Rick wakes when the mattress shifts under him. He’s become a rather light sleeper of late, and even the slightest movement or sound can rouse him from dreams; it’s a trait he picked up from Daryl, though he won’t ever admit that.

Daryl stands bare-chested at the corner of their cell where they’ve started throwing clothes, clean or dirty. He pulls on his pair of tattered gray trousers, his hips shifting back and forth as he slides into the garment, and Rick can’t help but stare at the man while he does so. Next he wraps a sleeveless, dark-gray button-up around his shoulders, quickly shoving the buttons through their respective holes. He follows that with his angel-wing vest, the one article of clothing he is never without these days, and Rick can’t stop himself from thinking how ironic it is that Daryl continues to wear that vest when he’s been a lot less than angelic lately, especially concerning their relationship.

Daryl is about to grab his boots and haul them back to the edge of the bed with him when Rick speaks. “You’re up early.”

Daryl isn’t startled by the man’s hushed words; chances are he knew Rick was awake the second the man’s eyes opened, even if he wasn’t looking at the sheriff. He just plunks himself down on the edge of their bed and undoes the laces on his boots. “Gonna go out an’ check the traps, see if any rabbits ‘r squirrels wandered in. If ‘m lucky maybe I’ll come ‘cross a deer, feed us all fer the next two ‘r three days.”

Rick nods, though he knows the other man can’t see him, his eyes fixing on the redneck’s bare arms. Those arms are beautiful in their own way, tan and muscular yet still lithe, able to haul a buck on his shoulders for miles or gently caress Rick’s bearded jawline when it’s late at night and neither of them can sleep.

Rick loves those arms, but he hates them, too. He hates them because now they’ve started to encircle Murphy when they should be encircling him. He hates them because as strong as they are they weren’t strong enough to resist Murphy’s tempting ways.

Rick reaches out, placing a cautious palm on Daryl’s shoulder, squeezes the muscle there. “Want me to come out with you? If you do happen to nab a deer I could help you carry it back. Could help with the other kills, at least, even if you don’t find a deer.”

Daryl tenses just slightly at Rick’s touch, something he hasn’t done to the man in a while. Rick used to be the only person in the world who could touch Daryl without him flinching, but now it appears that the timid side of Daryl is making another appearance; or maybe he’s just feeling guilty for what he’s been doing with Murphy.

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it. You can tend to your garden; I know that’s been calmin’ ya lately. ‘Sides, I kinda just wanna be alone with the forest; might help me clear my thoughts.” Daryl shrugs, inadvertently pushing Rick’s hand away.

Rick lets his arm drop back to the bed. He misses the way he used to be able to just touch the man without being pushed away or shrugged off. He misses the way those touches would often be returned, even if just a brush of fingertips against the back of his hand.

Daryl might be right in front of him, but damn if Rick doesn’t just _miss Daryl._

Rick sighs, scrubbing one hand over his beard. “You been hearing Merle again?”

Daryl freezes in his tracks, the arm that had been outstretched toward his crossbow now falling slack against his side. Rick knows he’s just crossed the line, but some part of him enjoys the way the man before him flounders. Payback for what Daryl’s been doing with Murphy; that’s what Rick’ll call it.

Daryl shakes his head once, something terse and jerky that Rick doesn’t believe in the slightest. “Nah, just been feelin’ kinda foggy lately.”

“Yeah, me too.” Rick chuckles, but it doesn’t sound real, doesn’t sound all the way there.

Daryl pauses just outside the threshold of their cell, throws a glance back at Rick. “Let’s hope Lori don’t appear when yer out in yer garden.” And then he leaves, as quick and silent as a disappearing shadow.

Rick’s breath hitches in his throat, his eyes unable to leave the spot Daryl has just vacated. Daryl always knows just where to hit him, knows how to make him hurt in ways no other can.

They’ve both lost someone, and both heard or seen that person when they knew damn well they shouldn’t have been there. It’s a subject they stay far away from, unless they absolutely have to talk about it to avoid a breakdown, or they’re in a fight.

And in a way this whole ordeal is a fight, it’s just much subtler than flying fists and shouting until your voice is raw. It’s not the kind of fight that’s going to end in tender kisses and rough make-up sex either. This fight will end when one of them finally snaps, leaves the other a broken, emotional wreck in their wake.

Either that or Rick will finally break and one of them, Murphy or Daryl. And that’s what scares him most about this whole situation. He can feel his insides clenching into tighter and tighter knots, can feel his grip on sanity starting to slip. He’s keeping calm and collected for now, but he doesn’t know how long it’ll be before he just loses it and beats one of them into the ground in a fit of rage.

But for now he must try to win the war with his words. He’s always been good at talking, persuading, making people see his side of things and do what he wants. Maybe a calm discussion with Murphy will make the man back off and leave Daryl alone, and then boom, problem solved.

Rick takes a deep breath as he slides out of bed, going to the clothing corner to grab his black jeans and beige service shirt. It no longer has the sheriff badges and patches on it, but he feels more authoritative in it, and people seem to respond better to him when he’s wearing it, as if they can tell that he used to be of high stature and deserves respect.

The words are already forming themselves in his head as he slides his gun belt around his hips, buckles it into place. His fingers go to his gun, stroking over the shiny, cool metal.

He plans on having a calm discussion, but it never hurts to have a little protection.

~ ~ ~

Rick wanders through the cell blocks nonchalantly, acting as if he’s just going around on a quiet check of the inner workings of the prison rather than trying to track down one of its inmates. He smiles politely at the Woodbury people he’s not yet very close to, gives more genuine smiles to those of his own group, even pausing to ask Hershel if he wouldn’t mind helping him tend to a few things in the garden later. Hershel accepts with a nod and a fatherly smile, then shuffles away to spend some time with Beth and Judith and read his Bible in a quieter area.

Rick wanders into D Block, where they’ve been housing all of the Woodbury people, and Connor and Murphy; basically anyone who isn’t part of Rick’s group gets put into D Block until they’re more well known, or until they can prove themselves enough to be a more needed and respected member of the group, as Tyreese and Sasha had done.

D Block is empty for once, all of its occupants currently in the library or the yards, enjoying another peaceful day. Rick almost turns around and leaves, figuring that Murphy must be elsewhere, too, when he hears a faint sniffle and a hiccup of a sob. Rick can’t be certain that it’s Murphy who’s crying; after all, a lot of the members from Woodbury have lost loved ones and are still grieving. But somehow he just knows, without a doubt, that it is Murphy. And though he usually prefers to give crying people their space, he has no qualms about walking right up to Murphy’s cell and knocking quietly on the wall beside the curtained bars.

He even notes that the number outside of the cell is #13; figures that Murphy would be living in a cell with such a portentous number, regardless of the fact that Connor lives there, too.

There is a muffled cough from inside the cell, the clearing of a throat, and then, “Yeah?”

Rick pushes the curtain aside and steps into the cell, looking down at Murphy with the least amount of contempt that he can possibly erase from his gaze. The contempt wavers, however, when Murphy looks up at him, eyes wide and blue and watery and as gorgeous as the ocean, eyes that look like Daryl’s.

“This a bad time?” Rick asks, unable to not be polite to this man who looks so much like the one he loves; if he were rude to Murphy it’d feel like he were being rude to Daryl, and that’s something Rick can’t do in good conscience.

Murphy shakes his head and wipes away a stray tear. “No, it’s fine. What can I do for ye?”

Rick hesitates, suddenly unsure of his words. He’d been all ready to come in here like a raging storm, tell Murphy to stay the hell away from Daryl and let that be the end of the discussion. Now he sees that he has to choose his words carefully, because Murphy isn’t Daryl, and Murphy isn’t Connor. Murphy is more sensitive than either of them, though he tries like hell not to let that show. That gives Rick a bit of hope, though, because hopefully that soft side will be more receptive to reason and to Rick’s emotions, and maybe Murphy really will back off.

“I just wanted to talk to you… about Daryl.” Rick pushes that out of his suddenly tight throat.

Murphy understands instantly. “What about ‘im?”

Rick huffs out a breath through his nose. “I just… Look, me and Daryl have been together for quite a while now. It took a long time for us to be comfortable with each other, with what we’d become, but we did it. He used to be so enclosed from me, from everyone, like he was surrounded by a giant brick wall at all times. But it’s not like that anymore. Daryl’s let that wall down for me, and we were doing so well, but now… it’s like he’s putting that wall up again.”

Murphy listens patiently, absorbing every word Rick says. But Rick’s not really making sense. “I don’t think I follow ye, sheriff.”

Rick shakes his head with a small smile, one that doesn’t touch his eyes. “What I’m trying to say is I love Daryl. And Daryl loves me. But I think he’s starting to forget that, because of you.”

“What do ye mean ‘cause of me?” Murphy’s eyes narrow slightly, his jaw clenching.

Rick can see that this is already spinning out of control, but he has no way to stop it. Unfortunately this discussion is going to have to take a turn; it can’t be calm, not under these circumstances. Rick has to be firm, has to tell it like it is.

“You’re the one he’s been fucking behind my back, and I’d like that to stop.” Rick’s eyes harden, and he levels Murphy with an intense gaze.

Murphy matches his gaze, seeming unfazed by Rick’s attempt at intimidation. “Ain’t exactly my fault if your boy comes t’ me, lookin’ t’ get laid by someone other ‘n you, now is it?”

Rick squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a slow exhale through his nostrils. His fingers twitch, longing to curve into a fist, and slam that fist into Murphy’s pretty little face.

“He never would have sought you out on his own. You came to him first, cheating on your own boyfriend and bringing him down in the process.” Rick spits the words out, having to control himself from damn near growling them.

And Murphy has the balls to smirk at Rick. “He coulda told me no, coulda told me t’ leave ‘im the fuck alone, coulda punched me right in the face fer offering in the first place. But he didn’t, Rick; he went along wit it, and what’s more, he liked it. He liked it s’much he came back for seconds an’ thirds an’ even more’n that. So don’t come in here, bearin’ down on me for offering him a change of pace when he’s the one who accepted it.”

Rick sees red. The color is dousing his vision, making it look like everything is covered in blood. Because he knows Murphy is right, and he just doesn’t want to admit it. Daryl is halfway to blame here, because Daryl willingly fucked Murphy, and then continued to do so. But to realize that is to realize that Daryl doesn’t love him, and that he can no longer love Daryl.

So Rick rears back, throws a punch instead. Murphy dodges him easily, grabs him by the wrist, squeezes too tightly. Rick tries to pull his arm back, but Murphy’s grip is tight as a vice, and he can’t so much as squirm out of it. Murphy shoves Rick back against the wall, presses their chests together, gets so close that their noses are an inch apart, at best.

Murphy surprises Rick by placing his free hand over his mouth, and then kissing the back of said hand. He pulls back after just a moment, a wry smirk curving up his lips. “I respect ye, Rick. Takes a lot t’ come an’ confront yer lover’s side-dish, try ‘n make ‘em see the light.”

Murphy’s eyes lose their light, and Rick swears the man is about to cry again. But he doesn’t cry, he just continues speaking. “But much as I respect ye I’m not gonna tell Daryl t’ stop seein’ me. I can’t. If he stops on his own that’s his choice, an’ I won’t pursue him after that. But there’s just somethin’ so special ‘bout him, somethin’ I just can’t give up on my own. An’ I know you understand that, otherwise ye wouldn’t be fightin’ so hard for him.”

Murphy released Rick, takes a few steps back. Rick is stunned by the look on the man’s face, by the honestly ringing through his words. The fight drains out of him as quickly as it had flared a few seconds before, and he slumps against the wall, almost on the verge of tears himself.

“I just can’t lose him.” Rick murmurs, his eyes brimming with the tears.

Murphy just nods. “I understand. But I’m not gonna stop from seein’ ‘im until he tells me otherwise. ‘M sorry.”

Though the fight in him is gone, Rick has one last tactic he can try to make things work in his favor. He draws the Colt from his holster, points it right between Murphy’s eyes; Murphy doesn’t even blink.

“The day he leaves me for you will be the day I squeeze this trigger.” Rick says; he means every word.

Murphy doesn’t speak; he doesn’t need to. There is nothing left for either of them to say now.

Rick re-holsters his gun and exits the cell.


	9. I Feel Disdain, Just Like You Do; I Feel Decayed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if the chapter title fits all that well, but I really like it, regardless. 
> 
> I didn't really know where I wanted this chapter to go. I just started to write and boom, everything fell right into place. I'm really proud of this chapter, just because of that. 
> 
> Also, the timeline is back to normal now. This picks up immediately after chapter 6, in case you want to refresh your memory a bit. 
> 
> Please enjoy the chapter, my loves.

Murphy is reeling from the kiss, his head spinning in dizzying circles. This kiss isn’t passionate or intense, as the kisses he shares with Daryl usually are; this kiss is giving and sweet and tender, and he can swear he even feel some love in it.

Murphy’s only ever felt this kind of sweeping undercurrent of emotion while he was kissing Connor. He loves this kiss, but it terrifies him at the same time, because it means that he drifting even farther away from Connor, and the only other island in sight than he can cling to is Daryl.

Daryl lifts up, his lips leaving Murphy’s so he can look down at the man, and he brushes Murphy’s bangs back on his forehead; it is the same gesture Connor has done to Murphy a hundred times over the course of their lives, but it feels so much different, so much more poignant, when Daryl does it.

“Better?” Daryl asks, his voice low and husky.

Murphy can’t answer right away, not when the taste of Daryl still lingers on his lips and tongue like it was meant to be there. But he also needs a moment to think about the simple one-word question, because he doesn’t know if he’s better.

If they’re talking about that very second in the present time, Murphy is better. He no longer feels like he’s drowning, no longer feels like a broken down wreck caught in an all-encompassing hurricane. He feels like he usually does: happy to have gotten a good fuck and ready for a nice long nap.

But if they’re talking about in general Murphy isn’t better. He still feels like shit for going and ruining things with his soul mate, his Connor. He hates himself for what he’s done and who he’s become, and wishes more than anything that he could take it all back and never leave Connor’s side, never hurt Connor like he now has so many times over. He knows that no amount of apologizing can ever fix what he’s broken, because no amount of days and nights spent with Connor can quench his thirst for Daryl.

No, Murphy isn’t better. But he has no way to explain all of that to Daryl, because though the words form on his lips they catch in his throat and damn near choke him, and he isn’t strong enough to push them out.

So he just gives Daryl a smile that he hopes looks genuine. “Aye, ‘m fine now.”

That seems to satisfy Daryl, whose lips curve up just slightly into his own kind of smirk. He pecks Murphy’s lips once more then settles back down onto the bed, lying on his back with his hands behind his head.

Murphy chews his lip for a few minutes, his thoughts raging in his head. He can’t stop hearing Daryl saying _Connor knows ‘bout us._ He needs to know what Daryl meant by that. If Connor approached him, then Murphy will have to step up to the plate, make sure nothing happens between the two of them. He fully understands the extent to what someone is willing to go to just to keep the person they love beside them.

“Daryl?” Murphy speaks softly, his voice barely above a whisper; he doesn’t look at Daryl while he speaks.

“Hmm?” Daryl hums out, his eyes cutting to the side to glance at Murphy from his peripheral.

“What did ye mean when ye said ‘Connor knows ‘bout us’?”

Daryl sighs, biting his own lip. “Don’t think ya really wanna know.”

Murphy turns his head to look at Daryl, catching the man’s gaze for a fraction of a second before it is returned to the bottom of the bunk above them. “Yes, I do.”

Daryl exhales a slow breath out through his nose before he speaks. “He caught up t’ me in the car area this mornin’, said he wanted t’ talk t’ me. Asked me fer a cigarette, which I gave ‘im. Told me he was upset ‘bout what’s been goin’ on between us, but that he just wanted t’ see ya happy, an’ was willing t’ overlook our cheatin’.”

Murphy stares at the side of Daryl’s face. “Is that all that happened?”

Daryl chews on his lip again for a moment, debating on whether or not he should really tell Murphy what his brother did.

“I know you’re hidin’ somethin’, Daryl, so just spit it out.” Murphy huffs, growing impatient.

“He said I should expand my horizons, and then he kissed me, right smack on the lips.” Daryl spits the words out, doing it quickly as if he’s ripping off a bandaid.

Murphy’s eyes widen in shock and he’s rendered speechless. He stares at Daryl’s profile as if the answers to all of his new questions reside there, his gaze damn near burning a hole in the man’s cheek.

Finally, Murphy manages to croak out, “He did what?”

Daryl turns, gives him an incredulous look. “Said he kissed me. Ain’t a big deal, though, really.” Daryl shrugs, trying to be nonchalant, but inside his heart is racing to beat the devil.

“It is a big deal, Daryl.” Murphy counters him.

“Yeah, well, what’d you mean when ya said that Rick knows, too, huh?” Daryl rolls so that he’s propped up on his elbow, leaning slightly over Murphy, staring straight into the man’s eyes.

Murphy stiffens, his throat suddenly feeling tight. He had hoped that Daryl would forget, or at least not mention it, but he should have figured the tables would turn this quick the second he asked Daryl for an explanation.

“M waitin’.” Daryl says, his breath fanning over Murphy’s face as his eyes narrow.

Murphy swallows roughly, barely managing to form the words around the lump in his throat. “Rick found me in my cell t’day, wanted t’ talk t’ me ‘bout ye. He said he wants me t’ stop seein’ ye. I told him I wasn’t gonna call it quits with ye unless ye left me first. He tried t’ throw a punch, but I blocked him, pinned him up ‘gainst the wall. He looked pretty damn d’pressed, tears fillin’ up with tears an’ shit. He said he can’t lose ye. He pulled his gun out of his holster, pointed it right ‘tween my eyes, said the day ye leave him for me will be the day he pulls the trigger. Then he just left.”

Something close to fury flashes in Daryl’s eyes, turning them into hard, blue steel. Murphy is somehow terrified of that look, because he knows it means that someone will probably be getting hurt in the near future. Murphy reaches up and runs a hand down Daryl’s arm, hoping that will calm him, but Daryl pulls away so sharply he almost topples right off the bed.

“Daryl? ‘S alright. I’ve had plenty ‘a guns pointed at my head ‘fore. ‘M not afraid ‘a Rick, either; I could handle him easily.” Murphy tries to make his tone soothing, but it just comes out trembling and scared.

If Daryl flies off the handle and attacks Rick it’ll be on Murphy’s head. Murphy doesn’t want anything like that to happen, because he’s already torn Rick and Daryl’s relationship far enough apart; if Daryl attacks Rick it’ll rip away whatever they have left with each other, put them at odds, make them both more tense and unhappy. And in truth, Murphy wasn’t looking for love, wasn’t looking to steal someone else’s love; he just wanted a good fuck every now and again. He can’t help what’s happened between him and Daryl any more than he can help what happened between him and Connor.

And then another thought strikes Murphy: what if Connor finds out that Rick pointed his gun at Murphy? Connor would go kill Rick without a second thought, wouldn’t even listen to reason or to Murphy’s pleas not to. And if Connor killed Rick, Daryl would try to kill Connor, and in a battle with those kinds of stakes Murphy would rather he be on the chopping block than either of them.

Daryl still hasn’t spoken. He’s just sitting there, fuming, thinking of how to handle the situation.

“Daryl, it’s okay, really.” Murphy tries again, his voice even softer this time.

Murphy withers under Daryl’s stare. “No, it’s not fuckin’ okay, Murphy. He pointed his fuckin’ gun at ya, and yer just gonna sit there sayin’ that’s alright? Well, it’s not alright, not at all. I’m gonna have a talk with Rick.”

Daryl abruptly swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, quickly locating his clothes and throwing them on haphazardly. He’s moving so fast that Murphy barely has time to register what’s happening, and try to put a stop to it.

Murphy practically leaps off the bed, flings himself at Daryl, and wraps his arms tightly around the other man. “Daryl, please. ‘S really not a big deal; I can handle Rick if the time ever comes.”

“Get the fuck off me, Murphy.” Daryl grunts and throws an elbow back, catching Murphy in the ribs.

Murphy makes a quiet groan of pain, but holds fast to Daryl. Daryl struggles under Murphy’s grasp, wriggling away from the too-tight embrace. Daryl’s beginning to feel claustrophobic and cornered, and he’s starting to panic. He doesn’t want to hurt Murphy, but he’ll have to if the boy doesn’t pull back in the next three seconds or so.

Murphy senses Daryl’s distress, pulls away. He places both hands gingerly on Daryl’s shoulders instead, trying to make his touch more soothing instead of confining. Daryl takes a few deep breaths and relaxes, then turns to face Murphy.

“It is a big deal t’ me, a’right? Rick he’s… had a lotta stuff happen t’ him recently, an’ his head ain’t quite screwed on right lately. He’s likely to really go an’ pull that trigger, an’ I’m not gonna let that happen. ‘M just gonna talk t’ him, see if I can’t get him t’ calm down and accept the situation a bit more. I just don’t wanna see either of you get hurt… or worse. I can’t lose anyone else, Murph.” Daryl’s voice is softer than Murphy’s ever heard it.

Murphy is enthralled by Daryl’s gentle tone, but his words of caring and comfort. He can see in the man’s eyes that Daryl’s still angry, but at least he won’t do anything rash that could get someone hurt. And that makes Murphy love him all the more.

Murphy raises his hands to cup Daryl’s cheeks and then leans in, pressing their lips together once more. Daryl’s eyes slip closed as he lets his mouth melt into Murphy’s, his hands going down to the man’s waist to pull him even closer.

Murphy pulls back after a moment, gives Daryl a smile. “I trust ye, Daryl. I just don’t wanna tear the two of ye apart any more ‘n I already have.”

Daryl shakes his head, barks out a laugh. “Ya haven’t torn me an’ Rick apart, Murph. I did that the second I slept with ya. It’s my mess, I’ll clean it up.” And then Daryl is gone, pulling on his shirt and grabbing his crossbow as he vacates the cell.

Murphy stares after him, feeling lighter and heavier all at the same time.

~ ~ ~

Connor is in his usual spot in bed when Murphy enters their cell. He’s sitting upright with his back pressed against the wall, a gun in his hands. There is no malice in his hold on the gun, but something closer to reverence. He strokes his fingertips over the Beretta, over its silencer, remembering the good old days when it was just him and Murphy and Rocco, or Romeo.

Murphy stares at his twin for a moment, watching the way his fingers move over the shiny metal, remembering the way those fingers always move over his body. Murphy stays silent, letting his brother have this moment; Connor already knows he’s there, anyway.

Finally, Connor set the gun aside, looks up. A bright smile breaks across his face when he sees his twin, and that makes Murphy’s heart clench painfully. How Connor can still smile at him that way after all he’s done is a mystery.

“Ain’t seen ye much t’day, Murph. I missed ye.” Connor pats the space beside him on the bed, inviting Murphy to come and cuddle with him.

Murphy is hesitant to accept the invitation, because he knows where this conversation will eventually end up. He moves over to the bed and sits on the edge of it instead, position himself so that he can still see Connor’s face as they talk. “I missed ye as well, Conn.”

Connor’s brows furrow in confusion as he takes in his twin’s emotional state. “What’s wrong, Murphy?”

Murphy sighs, averting his eyes down to the gun resting beside Connor’s thigh. Rick’s words ring in his ears once again: _the day he leaves me for you will be the day I pull this trigger._ He can never tell Connor that happened, though for some odd reason he desperately wants to.

“Murphy?” Connor’s voice wafts to him on a breath of air, a hand falling on his shoulder and gently shaking him out of his reverie.

Murphy looks up at Connor, their matching blue eyes locking onto one another instantly.

“Connor, why did you kiss Daryl?”


	10. Can't See The Silver Lining Down Here On The Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure that this title fits the chapter very well, but fuck you I'm not changing it.   
> This title comes from the song Trying Not To Love You by Nickelback, which fits this fic pretty damn perfectly, so y'all should give the song a listen.   
> And that's all I have to say for now, so please enjoy the chapter.

Daryl storms out of the cell he and Murphy were sharing, his footfalls from A Block to C Block matching the sound of thunder. His heart is pounding furiously in his chest as he thinks about what Murphy told him.

Part of him doesn’t believe that Rick really pulled a gun on Murphy. Part of him knows that Rick is a reasonable, level-headed individual who wouldn’t do something that rash just he was upset.

But at the same time he can still very clearly remember Rick attacking Tyreese, hitting him again and again at the drop of a hat. He remembers how he had to restrain Rick, use a good portion of his own strength just to pull the sheriff off the other man. He knows that Rick isn’t all there anymore, and that he could snap at any moment.

That’s why Rick’s been spending so much time in the garden, staying out of the internal affairs of the prison. He needs the calm of slow-growing vegetables and fresh air in his lungs, not the constant struggle and bickering of the council they’ve formed.

Daryl huffs as he enters C Block, slipping silently through the open gate and up the steps to Rick’s cell. He’s ready to just burst in there like a raging storm, demand an explanation from Rick, but what he sees in the cell diffuses him like he’s just been doused in warm water.

Rick is on the bed they share, curling into himself. He’s clutching Daryl’s pillow in his sleep, his face pressed against the fabric so he can breathe in Daryl’s scent while he dreams. He looks like a child, a child with a raggedy beard, and Daryl can’t bear to wake the man up and yell at him, not now.

Daryl stares at Rick for a few moments, just because he can. He rarely gets to see the sheriff this way, without his unbreakable façade in place. Rick is usually always trying to hide the fact that he’s breaking inside with fake smiles or a mask of neutrality, but here in his sleep he doesn’t have to hide, and Daryl can see every sorrow etched into his furrowed brow and frowning lips.

Daryl hates to see the man like this, at unease even in dreams, but at least he’s getting some rest. Daryl kneels by the bed, strokes a hand across Rick’s bearded jawline. It’s a miracle that Rick doesn’t wake up instantly, since he’s been sleeping about as light as Daryl lately, by the doesn’t, and that makes Daryl repeat the motion. The stubble is scratchy under his fingertips, but he doesn’t really mind that.

Daryl smirks slightly, though it doesn’t touch his eyes. He’s fucked up so bad this time, and even if he left Murphy completely, never spoke to the other man again or even looked at him, it wouldn’t do a damn thing to fix his and Rick’s broken relationship.

And Rick’s so willing to hang on to him, so willing to let bygones be bygones and forgive everything he’s done with Murphy. Rick’s too afraid of losing him to do anything but pull him closer, or try to scare off the competition.

It makes sense why Rick would pull his gun on Murphy, really it does. Daryl probably would have done the same thing if he were in Rick’s position, except the gun would have been a crossbow and the person would already be six feet underground. He can’t fault Rick for what he’s done, because that would be hypocritical, and Daryl’s anything but a hypocrite.

Daryl feels tears prickling his eyes, and he wants to let them fall. He wants to just breakdown right there on the floor, sob out all of his pain. But he doesn’t know how to be anything but strong, and besides he can’t go into a fit with Rick and the rest of the group asleep right next to him. That would wake everyone up, and then they’d all know his shame.

So he does the one thing aside from crying that he absolutely hates to do: he runs. He runs from his and Rick’s cell, runs from his problems, runs from the tears trying to force their way out of his eyes. He runs until his breath hitches in his throat and his sides cramp up and his legs feel like they’re burning, and then he runs some more. He runs until he can’t run anymore, finally tripping and sprawling in the dirt and grass of one of the fields.

He doesn’t know where exactly he is, didn’t have a particular place in mind when he started his mad-dash throughout the prison grounds. But somehow he isn’t all that surprised when he looks up and realizes he’s in the group’s makeshift graveyard.

And for some reason that hits him harder than anything, and he breaks down right there in the grass. He manages to scramble to his knees, his hands holding him up and his head pointed downward, the tears hot and unceasing against his cool cheeks. He sobs so loud the walkers at the fence line groan at a volume that drowns him out, but still he can’t stop.

Something inside of Daryl has finally snapped, like a bridge breaking during an earthquake, and it’s dragging him down with its wreckage. His chest heaves and his cries get caught in his throat, choking him and sending him sputtering back into the grass.

Daryl curls into a ball as his cries start to ebb, his eyes fixing on the few wooden crosses he can see from that vantage point. For some reason his thoughts stray to Merle, and he briefly remembers that there is no cross for his brother, nor will there ever be. That sets him to crying again, though not as hard this time.

Daryl cries himself to sleep, remaining in the grass for the rest of the night.

~ ~ ~

Daryl wakes to someone gently pushing his hair back from his face. For a split second he thinks it’s Merle, probably on account of the dream he had about the man. But then reality crashes down on him once more; Merle is dead, and the only two people in the world who have touched him in such a caring manner are Carol and Rick.

He knows instantly that it’s the latter who’s here beside him; Carol has no business being out by the graves, and she would never think to look for him over here, anyway.

“Rick.” Daryl mumbles, a soft smile curving his lips.

“Daryl.” Rick replies, his voice gentle and sweet.

Daryl manages to pull himself into a sitting position, finding Rick a lot closer than he expected. Rick is just inches from his face, once he’s all the way up, his blue eyes shining with sleepiness and something close to joy.

Daryl stares at Rick, knowing he should say something, but not knowing what that something should be. And then he doesn’t have to speak, because Rick closes the gap between them by placing a tender kiss on Daryl’s lips.

And that makes Daryl want to cry all over again, but he controls himself; he just can’t make himself kiss Rick back.

Rick pulls away, stunned by Daryl’s lack of returned affection. “Are you alright, Daryl?”

Daryl sighs, not quite sure how to answer that question. He’s the one who’s been cheating on Rick, the one being a complete asshole and fucking up their relationship. He shouldn’t be feeling sorry for himself or crying, he should be alright. But he isn’t; he’s not alright.

Daryl looks up at Rick, and Rick can tell that he’s been crying. Rick can see every bit of turmoil and sorrow in the redneck’s perfect blue eyes, and his heart clenches painfully, because he never wants to see Daryl look that way ever again.

Daryl doesn’t break contact with Rick, just burns a hole through his eyes with that haunting gaze of his. Daryl has to ruin yet another moment between them, has to know the answer to the one question that’s been running through his mind since he left Murphy’s cell last night.

And then, so quietly Rick can just barely understand the words, Daryl says, “Why would you point your gun at Murphy, Rick?”


	11. I Said I Loved You, And I Swear I Still Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loyal followers, I have returned from my long hiatus and am now back in action, for the most part.   
> I've had a lot of personal life shit going on lately, beginning with my grandmother passing away and ending with me halfway falling for my really gay best friend. So my life's pretty much been a train wreck for the past few weeks, and I haven't been able to work up the motivation or the inspiration to write anything.  
> Things finally seem to be calming down some, and I finally felt ready to try writing again, so I typed this little chapter up and it felt like reconnecting with an old friend. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, to just be able to go right back into this like it was nothing. So I'm really hoping that I'll be able to write more often now, like I used to.   
> Fingers crossed. 
> 
> Anyway, in case you need to refresh your memory on where we left off (like I did), this chapter takes place immediately after chapter 9.   
> Also, I'm not sure if this title fits very well, but I quite like the contrast between it and the context of the chapter, and of the story as a whole.   
> Enjoy the chapter, my loves, and thank you for sticking around for me while I've been away.

Connor’s hand falls away from Murphy’s shoulder, his eyes widening slightly as he struggles to maintain eye-contact with his twin. He didn’t think Daryl would go off and tell Murphy about their little encounter earlier in the day. Daryl seemed too shocked by the whole thing to go and run his mouth about it, and he’d always acted like a closed book, anyway.

“He told ye ‘bout that?” Connor questions, sitting back against the wall.

Murphy nods, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

Connor sighs, a nervous chuckle bubbling up from his lips and filling the silence around them awkwardly. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to think of the best way to explain himself to his brother. He shouldn’t feel so guilty about the whole thing, especially since Murphy’s the one running around behind his back and cheating on him, but he can’t help feeling like he crossed some kind of line, broke some kind of boundary, not just with Daryl, but with Murphy, too.

Connor’s eyes fall to the gun resting beside him once more, trying to gain some semblance of peace. He’s never felt more at ease than when he’s had that gun in his hands, except for the times he’s had Murphy under his fingertips. He has neither now, and it shakes him right to the core.

“I did what I had t’ do, Murph. He’s takin’ ye away from me, little by little, one day at a time, an’ it’s tearin’ me apart. An’ I know bein’ with him makes ye happy, so I don’t wanna come down hard on ye and tell ye not t’ see him no more, but it’s just killin’ me t’ see ye slippin’ farther an’ farther away from me an’ movin’ in closer t’ him. So I figured I could join in on this whole thing, at least every once in a while. Maybe not with both of ye, but at least with him; maybe it’d balance me t’ get a taste a’ him once in a while, too, y’know?”

Connor is shaking by the time he finishes speaking, and he clasps his hands together, hides them somewhere between his legs, making sure Murphy can’t see just how badly they’re vibrating. He looks a little bit more innocent, too, like a little boy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar trying to explain how he was just _so hungry_ and couldn’t wait for dinner.

Connor can’t even look at Murphy, he feels so ashamed of himself. It was so stupid what he went and did, kissing Daryl like that and thinking Murphy wouldn’t find out about it. He’d have come clean soon enough anyway; he’s never been able to keep secrets from Murphy. Now he’s gone and pushed the wedge between them just that much further.

And what if Murphy decides that he doesn’t want Connor anymore because of this whole thing? Connor would rather go off on his own and die than be in the same damn building with Murphy but still be so far apart. That’s an ocean he could never cross, because emotional distance drowns much quicker than physical distance.

“Conn,” Murphy says his name so quietly he almost doesn’t hear him, especially not with all the thoughts screaming in his head.

Connor’s eyes dart up to Murphy’s face, stay there. Murphy no longer looks upset; rather he just looks sad, like his heart is being torn to shreds right there in his chest. That look terrifies Connor, because he doesn’t know how to erase it from his love’s features.

“I’m so sorry I hurt ye. I never meant for that t’ happen, never meant for any of this t’ happen, it just sort of… fell into our laps, y’know? An’ if I could reverse time an’ take it all back I would, but I can’t, and now I’m stuck. I can’t leave ‘im, Connor, just like I can’t leave you. An’ I don’t wanna hurt ye anymore, don’t want ye t’ be sad anymore, but I don’t know how to fix this.” Tears brim in Murphy’s eyes as he speaks, and Connor’s heart clenches painfully.

Connor wants to feel anger, wants to not care so much how Murphy feels, wants to yell and scream at Murphy and tell him he’s an idiot. But he can’t do any of that. Murphy just looks so depressed and forlorn and all Connor wants to do is wrap him into a hug and kiss his hair until the smile returns to his face.

And the worst part is, Murphy deserves all of this. Murphy deserves to feel this way, deserves Connor’s wrath and fury, deserves a good pop in the mouth just for good measure. Murphy went and fucked everything up, and now he should be paying the price. But it’s a toll Connor just can’t enforce, because he loves Murphy far too much.

So he pushes everything he’s feeling aside, turns the conversation back to the kiss that started this whole train-wreck. “Are ye mad at me for kissing Daryl?”

Murphy’s lips curve up into a near-genuine smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m not mad at ye. I understand why ye kissed him. I just needed t’ hear ye explain it t’ me is all.” Murphy inches a little closer to his brother, reaches a hand out and strokes a finger over the man’s cheekbone.

Connor sighs softly, needing nothing more than Murphy’s touch in that moment. Murphy’s all he needs, all he’s ever needed, and that’s why he’s willing to concede so much just to keep Murphy in his life. Murphy could go off and fuck every last asshole in this prison, and Connor would turn a blind eye so long as Murphy still came to sleep beside him at night.

Murphy’s voice snaps Connor back to reality once more. “I could talk t’ Daryl, see if we can add ye in sometimes. An’ if not I could probably persuade him t’ give ye a round or two. If that’s what ye really want, anyway.”

Connor nods, a small smile stretching his lips. “Thank ye, Murph.”

Connor doesn’t bother saying that that’s not what he really wants; Murphy wouldn’t listen anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick side note here for those of you also reading my Daryl/Rick AU, M.I.N.E (End This Way): I'm not sure when I'll be updating that particular fic again. Fluff and love and sweetness is pretty much the furthest thing from my mind lately, and I don't want to ruin that story by trying to force myself to write something I'm just not feeling right now. I'm sure I'll be able to update that story soon, but you'll have to be patient with me on that; I'm quite delicate right now.   
> At least I didn't leave you guys on a cliff-hanger or something. So for now just enjoy the sweet stopping point where I did leave off. I'll get back to it eventually.


	12. I Know I Said I'm Sorry, But That's Not What I Meant To Say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must apologize once again for my long absence here. I just feel very unmotivated to write lately for some reason. I'm working hard to change that. So I must again ask you to all bear with me, and be patient with me. I appreciate your continued support and loyalty, and thank you for waiting around for my updates. Means the world to me to have readers like you guys behind my fics. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm not really sure why I chose this title, but it just seemed to fit the chapter quite well. I hope you agree with me.   
> As always with this story, this chapter took me for a turn like a damn roller coaster ride, going in a completely different direction than what I had originally thought it would. At least I can still surprise myself, and I hope I'm able to surprise all of you as well.   
> And that's all I have to say for now, but please check the end notes because I'm putting some important information there that you might want to know about.   
> Enjoy, darlings.

Rick stares at Daryl incredulously, the man’s question slapping him right in the face and jarring him to the core. He never imagined that Murphy would tell Daryl about their little incident the day prior; Murphy just never seemed like the tattling type. He shouldn’t be surprised, though; something of that magnitude could never be locked up for long. 

The words “I’m sorry” tingle on Rick’s lips, almost push themselves out of his throat, but he realizes that he isn’t actually sorry, not one little bit. He has nothing to apologize for. 

Daryl stares at him with those watchful blue eyes, patiently waiting for an explanation. 

“I did what I had to do, Daryl.” Rick says, no hint of apology in his tone, and no regret. 

“What’s that even mean, Rick?” Daryl asks, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

Rick sighs. It should be obvious what he meant by that, especially given their current circumstances, but Daryl’s just sitting there, looking almost lost. Rick is suddenly annoyed by the man he’s grown to love. He wants to grab Daryl’s shoulders and just shake him for a few minutes, really rattle him up, see if that will help everything click into place in the redneck’s mind. 

He doesn’t do that, though, because violence won’t help in this situation. Rick’s a calmer man, anyway, always has been. 

Rick speaks slowly, keeping eye-contact with Daryl the entire time. “It was a scare tactic, a ploy. Sometimes the only way to make someone back down is to threaten them, you know? So that’s what I did.”

“You threatened Murphy t’ make ‘im leave me alone?” Daryl asks, his question sounding a lot more like an accusation than Rick thinks it should. 

“No, I didn’t threaten him; I made him a promise.”

Daryl’s eyes widen, the shock rippling through the blue waters, and Rick somehow knows he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life. 

“You’re really gonna kill him.” It isn’t a question.

Rick swallows roughly, the bravado he had built up rushing out of him in one quick exhale. Will he really kill Murphy if he continues his affair with Daryl? The answer should be “no”, but it feels a lot more like “yes.”

Rick’s eyes dart out to the sea of walkers just beyond the gates’ horizon, tracks their movements as if it will somehow make things clearer in his head. He’d love nothing more than for Murphy to join that nameless crowd of the dead, blend into the background of nothingness and fade out of his and Daryl’s lives forever, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be the one to put Murphy there. Except he does. 

Rick’s not willing to admit it, not even to himself, but his only genuine smiles lately come from his fantasies of taking a knife to Murphy’s throat or a gun to his head. And that terrifies him right down to the core, because he’s never been a murderer, and he’s never considered himself a jealous lover. 

The only other time he felt this way was when Shane was going after Lori, trying to lay claim to Judith, who was just a nub in Lori’s belly at that time. And he wouldn’t label that as jealousy, because he had nothing to be jealous of. Lori was already his, and he just needed to make sure it stayed that way. She’d asked him to put a stop to Shane, anyway, all but saying the words “kill him.” No, that wasn’t jealousy, that was protecting what he’d rightfully gained, and there was nothing wrong with that. 

“Rick.” Daryl’s voice brings the sheriff back to reality, his eyes snapping back to the redneck’s. 

There is a hardness in Daryl’s eyes that’s putting Rick on edge. Rick is about to lose everything, and he knows it. He feels like a drowning man desperately groping for a life preserver in open water, a million miles away from salvation. 

“Are you going t’ kill Murphy?” Daryl asks, his voice steady and surprisingly calm. 

Rick blinks a few times, unsure of how to answer that question. He’s not actively planning to murder the Irish lad, no, but he’s a lot more than willing to send him to his God if he doesn’t back off of Daryl. Just like he did to Shane when he didn’t back off of Lori. Rick earned his place with Daryl, and no one’s going to ruin that for him. 

So he answers in the only way he can. “Not now. Not right away.” Because that’s the truth, or as much of it as he can say without a freighter’s worth of explanation. 

“Then when?”

“When you leave me for him.”

Daryl snorts, something humorless and sad, and slings his crossbow over his shoulder. “Y’know what’s funny, Rick?”

Rick cocks an eyebrow, the confusion written all over his face. “What?”

“The fact that you think you’ll actually be able t’ get that close t’ him without me puttin’ a stop t’ ya.” Daryl speaks as he rises to his feet, towering over Rick now. 

Rick stares up at the man. Daryl’s face is lined with determination, his eyes turned to ice, one hand curled around the strap of his crossbow, the other curled into a fist at his side. Rick has never been more frightened of the man he loves than he is now, and he feels the urge to just turn tail and run back to his cell, their cell, and wait until this whole thing blows over. 

But Daryl’s statement begs the question. “You’re leaving me then?”

A miniscule smirk curves the corner of Daryl’s lips as he sneers down at Rick. “Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

And then Daryl walks away, leaving Rick stunned and staring in his wake. 

Rick has gone completely numb. He has no energy left with which to rise to his feet and follow after Daryl, let alone blink. It’s a wonder he’s even breathing still, considering the fact that his chest feels like it’s about to collapse in a heap of shattered bone fragments. 

Daryl left him. For Murphy. 

That strikes Rick right to the core, and suddenly tears are leaking down his face like waterfalls.

Daryl was the one who went behind Rick’s back and cheated on him with someone else. Daryl was the one that ruined their relationship, tore things so far apart they could never be repaired. Daryl is the one who should be staring after Rick as he walks away after ending their relationship, not the other way around. Daryl is the one who should be sobbing and feeling like he’s a breath away from an early death. 

Daryl is the one in the wrong, but Rick is the one who lost everything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is mostly to those of you who are also reading my Dick AU, M.I.N.E (End This Way). I'm sorry to say, but I'm suspending that fic indefinitely. I may never go back to it, and it may never get finished. I had some big plans for that fic, but they just don't seem as important anymore, and I'm not really sure that I want to continue on that ride. So for all of you wishing that I'd write a Dick fic with a happy ending for once, looks like you got your wish. I may come back to it at some later date, but for now I'm done with it.   
> I'm going to pop over there and type up some new endnotes for the last chapter, as well as give the song list for the chapters, if anyone's interested in that.   
> I thank you all for your support on that large endeavor, as well as this one.


	13. Counting All The Assholes In The Room, Well I'm Definitely Not Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to think that this title fits the story overall, or at least a few certain characters. It doesn't really have much to do with the chapter itself, though, if I'm thinking about it. I like it, though. 
> 
> As usual lately, I must apologize for taking so long with updating. I have no excuses to give you because that's all they would be: excuses. So I'm just going to say that I'm trying harder to keep up with my writing, in whatever ways I can, and hopefully I'll be back to normal soon.   
> Enjoy the chapter, my loves.

Murphy blinks his eyes open to sunlight slanting through the bars of his cell, and an empty bed. He darts up on the slim mattress, his head swiveling around, searching for Connor who is pointedly not there.

Something blooms inside of him, something between sorrow and fury. He has the intense urge to punch something and then sob loudly for several minutes.

However, before he can do either Daryl appears in the entryway to his cell like a ghost, a grim sort of determination in his eyes. The redneck clears his throat, as if he has something to say, but no words leave his lips. He simply stands there and stares at Murphy, his eyes jumping around like those of a caged animal.

Murphy reins himself in, takes a breath, calmly asks, “What’s wrong, Daryl?”

Daryl shifts his weight from foot to foot for a moment, the hand gripping the strap of his crossbow tightening until the knuckles turn white, and Murphy swears he’s about to bolt without saying a word.

But, finally, he does speak. “I left Rick.”

Murphy’s eyes go wide with incredulity, fix themselves squarely on Daryl’s own, try to capture the tumultuous waves of his blue irises and fail miserably. “You what?”

Daryl huffs out through his nose, though the sound is not in annoyance, but rather an odd form of nervousness. “Said I left Rick.”

“I heard that part. Question is, why?” Murphy slides up the bed a little to make room for Daryl.

Daryl’s eyes dart between Murphy and that new little space on the bed, and after a moment he plunks down on the mattress. His hand goes to his face, the thumb slipping between his lips as his teeth latch onto the nail, and he doesn’t speak for several minutes.

Murphy is patient, allowing Daryl plenty of time to collect his thoughts and put them on display. He feels eerily calm, though he still quite clearly remembers what Rick said to him just the day before. He knows that now Rick will be coming after him with a loaded Colt at the ready, but for some strange reason he can’t bring himself to care.

And, in another revelation he has in the span of time it takes Daryl to push words from his stiff throat, he finds that he no longer cares that Connor left him in the middle of the night either. The fury he felt just minutes before is completely snuffed out, like the ends of so many cigarettes he and his brother had shared before. It is replaced by indifference.

Connor is his twin brother. Nothing more, nothing less. Daryl is his lover now.

It’s weird to feel that way, since he had always believed Connor to be his soul mate, but somehow it seems right, too. He and Connor never should have started their affair in the first place. It was wrong, and Murphy sees that now. He only hopes that Connor will come to the same realization once Murphy explains everything.

Murphy will give Connor his space, too. He’ll move out of the cell, move into a new one with Daryl instead. He’ll still see Connor every day, and he won’t treat him any different than he did before, but he knows things will never quite be the same. But that’s what needs to happen now.

“I don’t know why.” Daryl’s voice shakes Murphy from his reverie.

Murphy’s eyes focus on Daryl once more, taking in his profile. He lays a hand on Daryl’s shoulder, making the man flinch slightly. Daryl re-settles himself, glances at Murphy from the corner of his eye.

“Well, what prompted ye t’ leave him?” Murphy asks, his tone gentle.

Daryl is quick to respond. “He pointed his gun at ya, Murphy, and that just ain’t okay. And maybe I coulda overlooked that, ‘cept he said he didn’t just threaten ya, he made ya a promise when he said what he did. An’ the way I see it is I can’t be with someone who makes those kinds a’ promises. Reminds me a lil’ too much of my dear ol’ dad, since he was a bit more n’ off the deep end, if ya know what I mean.”

Daryl scrubs his hand over his face as he finishes, his eyes slipping closed as if he can’t handle the weight of what he just said. Murphy just pats his shoulder, absorbing all the information before he tries to respond to it.

Murphy would be lying if he said he didn’t want this. He wanted this more than anyone else, more than even Daryl did, and he’s willing to admit that. He’s willing to cop the blame and take whatever consequences may come. But he can’t help but think that Daryl’s being a little stupid about this whole thing.

Rick promised to kill Murphy when Daryl left him for the man, so what does Daryl do? Leaves Rick for Murphy. If Daryl really wanted to keep Murphy out of harm’s way he would have just kept his mouth shut and stayed with Rick. Because now Murphy’s got a target right between his eyes, and Daryl’s probably got another on his own back, because Murphy doubts that Rick will stop with just him. No, Rick will go after Daryl, too, since Daryl’s the one who really scorned him.

But at the same time Murphy doesn’t fault Daryl for leaving. He never would have expected Daryl to stay with someone he didn’t completely love and trust. And while Daryl may have loved Rick he never could have fully trusted him again, not after all that’s happened between the sheriff and the slightly-younger Irish lad.

Murphy ruminates on these things as Daryl continues to bite at his thumbnail and tap his foot restlessly. Daryl’s waiting for a response, and Murphy knows that, but he can’t help but enjoy the way the redneck squirms under his anxiety. He wants Daryl to feel the way he’s been feeling during their past few weeks together, like he has to keep looking over his shoulder and tiptoe around everyone he knows. That must be how Daryl feels now, though on a much smaller scale, and Murphy feels a little sick for liking that.

Murphy’s about to open his mouth and speak, put Daryl out of his misery, when a thundering _BOOM_ resonates around them, the entire building they’re sitting in vibrating like God is wiggling it with His little finger.

“The fuck was that?” Murphy questions, looking up to the ceiling as if it will provide him with the answer.

Daryl’s eyes narrow into slits, and he jumps to his feet, his entire body taut like a live wire. “Let’s go find out.”


	14. Now I Know What Empty Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per what has become the norm lately, I must apologize for my extended absence. I've just been finding it difficult to work up the motivation to write lately, and when I do try I just don't feel as inspired as I used to. I'm trying to change that by reading more, because that seems to help, so maybe soon I'll be able to get myself back to the way I used to be. 
> 
> Anyway, I feel like there'll be a difference between the first two parts and the last part because I wrote them on two different days with two relatively different mind-frames. I feel like the last part (which is actually the longest part and would probably be considered the second half) is actually better than the first. But I suppose I'll just have to let you guys be the judge of that. 
> 
> Hopefully y'all paid attention to the tags because the one that says "canon divergence" really comes into play in this chapter. Mostly because I can't remember a lot of the lines that were said during the particular episode this is set in. Also because it's got the MacManus twins in it. And many other reasons. But yeah, divergence here. 
> 
> And I think that's all I've got to say right now. Or maybe I'm just being forgetful because I'm really tired right now. Either way, I'll stop talking now. 
> 
> Please enjoy the chapter, my loves.

Daryl’s heartbeat pounds in his ears, blocking out everything else. His breath comes in rapid pants that he can’t seem to slow, no matter how hard he tries. His fingers are clenched around his crossbow so tightly that his knuckles are white. And though he has never been much of a religious man he can’t stop praying that everyone is safe.

“Daryl, wait.” Murphy’s voice breaks through the fog surrounding him, making him snap back on his heels.

Daryl spins around so fast that Murphy has to take a step back to keep from being hit by the crossbow.

“Wait for what, Murphy?” Daryl asks, his tone solemn, his voice pitched low.

Murphy stares at him for a moment, unsure of how to reply. It should have been more than obvious what he had meant. “Wait for _me._ You’re practically sprintin’ outta here, an’ I can’t keep up with ye.”

“Thought you’d made a life with running, Murphy.” Daryl means that statement as a joke, a teasing jest to heckle the boy and get him to work harder to keep up, but it comes out as a condescending judgment.

Murphy’s brow falls, his expression turning into a grimace. He doesn’t speak, and Daryl takes that as a sign that the conversation is over. Without even a backward glance Daryl turns and runs full speed toward the nearest exit, leaving Murphy to huff and puff and trail behind. Daryl will just have to make things up to Murphy later.

~ ~ ~

Daryl knows something is wrong the instant the sun hits his skin. On his way out of the prison he’d been trying to delude himself into believing that maybe it was just a large earthquake that had hit the prison, even though that wouldn’t have explained the massive _BOOM_ that damn near blew out his eardrums. Now he knows that this is something much worse than just a force of nature.

On the horizon of the fences a military tank and several trucks have rolled into an arrow formation, with the tank taking point. And if his eyes don’t deceive him, Daryl can see the Governor standing astride that tank as if he owns the damn thing, as if he’s some mighty king on his way to requisition new land.

This is worse than just the Governor rolling up trying to take their home again, because this time he’s brought captives along. Hershel and Michonne are strategically placed in front of the tank, most likely to ward off attacks from team prison, on their knees with their hands behind their backs.

Daryl’s breath hitches in his throat at the sight, and all he can do to keep sane is search out Rick’s slender frame, approaching him and a few of the others with Carl, Glenn, and Maggie by his side.

Rick meets Daryl’s gaze, and somehow the ice blue of his irises melts into warm waters roiled by worry. Rick is practically begging Daryl for help, and even with all that’s happened between them in the space of a few hours Daryl longs to give the man the aid he so desperately craves.

So Daryl steps up to Rick’s side, walks level with him, lets their arms brush against each other for the briefest of moments before they’re both forced to pull away and refocus.

Rick speaks to the Governor, shouts something about not being the leader anymore, but Daryl tunes him out, because he knows that there’s only one way this will go, regardless of what Rick says. All Daryl can do is show his unwavering loyalty to the former sheriff by preparing for the oncoming battle, and by making sure the others do the same. Cowardice will not be tolerated now, not even from Murphy, the man he’s come to love in some twisted way.

Daryl shoots a glance at Murphy, raises an eyebrow, asks the question. _You’re with me, right?_

Murphy meets his eyes, tips his chin as a nod, answers correctly. _Of course._

~ ~ ~

Smoke and sweat, and maybe a little bit of blood, are blocking his vision, not impairing him enough to do any damage or make him less deadly than he always has been, but just enough to make him uncomfortable. He’s paranoid and jumpy and his eyes won’t stop darting around the prison grounds, searching frantically for any sense of normalcy and for the people he’s started to call family.

And for those first few seconds of space after the most carnage was wracked upon the prison he was searching for Rick, not even realizing that’s what he was doing until he saw a man with curly hair and a scraggly beard collapse on the ground and all he could do was move toward them at a full-on sprint. He didn’t even remember his legs moving, he just knew that one second he was standing beside the dead body of the tank driver he’d let a bolt fly through and the next he was standing beside the dead body of a man who actually looked nothing like Rick once you were up close to him.

That seems to snap him back to his senses, and his mind shifts gears almost seamlessly, his eyes now searching for the second most important person in his life, Murphy.

Daryl can’t remember where he last saw Murphy. He knows that Murphy had started out right beside him, a gun in his hand and firing rounds faster than anyone could even blink or breathe, just like everyone else. But then he’d disappeared into the parted crowds and the smoke and the war.

Murphy had run off like a good soldier into battle, straight at the enemy and aiming for the throat, and for all Daryl knew he was lying in the grass somewhere beyond, dead and gone and probably only a few minutes or hours away from turning.

A lump formed in Daryl’s throat that he could barely breathe around at that thought.

So he continues to search frantically, his eyes pausing on every single body he can see, both alive and dead. None of them look anything like Murphy, and that makes something too close to hope bloom through his chest. But hope is what makes people stupid, what gets them killed, and so he squashes it down, returns his mind to mission mode.

What he needs to do first is try to find the members of his group that are still alive. He thinks he can see Beth wandering around alone, looking far too lost and confused to be good, around the tank he destroyed just a few minutes prior.

Daryl starts forward, his legs just beginning to pump at full speed, when he crashes right into Connor. Connor’s arms encircle him, keep him upright, and then seem to tighten. In a way it’s making him feel claustrophobic, but at the same time the embrace feels nice. It’s something he needs and wants, but doesn’t, all at the same time.

This is not the time for a hug, though. Daryl pushes back roughly, making Connor stumble over his boots and nearly lose his balance. Daryl reaches out and steadies the man, not wanting the Irish lad to think he was actually trying to hurt him or push him away indefinitely. At this point Daryl will take whoever he can get along with him, even if it is Murphy’s overprotective, headstrong, bold, and flirty twin brother.

“C’mon, Connor, we gotta go.” Daryl says, almost shouting because his ears have been ringing since the first blast hit and haven’t stopped since.

“But Murph. I can’t find Murph.” Connor’s voice is both deadpan and filled with emotion, and the mix sends a shiver down Daryl’s spine.

Connor’s eyes dart around as Daryl’s had been doing just moments before. The man looks panicked and jumpy, and while Daryl understands the emotions quite well he knows that this is neither the time nor the place for them to show up.

“We’ll find ‘im later, Connor. Right now we gotta get outta here ‘fore the walkers start piling up ‘round here and more shit hits the damn fan. This place ain’t safe and neither are we if we keep stickin’ around.” Daryl grips Connor’s elbow, gives a slightly rough jerk toward the direction he saw Beth in.

Connor pulls back sharply, practically flinging himself away from Daryl. “No, I can’t leave without me Murph! He’s still ‘round here somewhere; he’s gotta be!”

Daryl huffs and grabs Connor’s hand, the only form of affection he’s ever shown the other man. “Maybe he is an’ maybe he isn’t, but we’ll never find out if we die, ‘r get injured. Our best chance ‘a findin’ him anytime soon is t’ leave, right now; we can search for ‘im soon as we get clear ‘a this hellhole.”

Confusion and indecision bounce around in Connor’s eyes for a few seconds, but finally he nods and allows Daryl to pull him along. They nab Beth on their way to the nearest safe exit, and the trio head into the woods.

Before they plunge completely into the proverbial darkness of the surrounding forest Daryl throws a glance back over his shoulder, taking in the carnage.

And in the distance, trying their hardest to climb up a steep hill at a quick pace, are three figures who look an awful lot like Carl, Rick, and Murphy.


	15. I Pulled You Closer, Tighter, Because I Knew You'd Disappear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally managed to post another chapter without leaving this fic unattended for a week or longer. Go me.   
> Things are starting to come easier again, I think. So hopefully I'll be able to write more pretty soon. Like maybe Monday night or something, since I've got a busy weekend planned.   
> Anyway, I really hope you all like the chapter and turn this story has taken.   
> Enjoy.

Connor is panicking. Still.

He’s been panicking ever since the first explosion sounded, sending him running across the prison, from the library to the fields, in about twenty seconds flat. He’d been searching for a Bible at the time, a King James version like the one his ma had raised them on, something to keep him centered and sane since Murphy was otherwise occupied.

He’s been panicking ever since he saw Daryl and Murphy appear in the courtyard together, Murphy about a step behind the redneck, like he was following him, like he was a puppy nipping at the other man’s heels. He can still clearly see the silent exchange between the two of them, the way Daryl looked back and straight into Murphy’s eyes and Murphy had nodded at him, as if they were the one with the twin connection instead. Connor had never felt as alone as he had then, observing their quiet bonding.

He’s been panicking ever since he had to ignore the two lovebirds in favor of focusing on the much bigger threat on the horizon, the tank and trucks and psychopath with the samurai sword.

He’s been panicking ever since that maniac sunk that sword into Hershel’s throat. Hershel, who Connor had never really been close to, but who still somehow reminded him of his own father. He never expected Hershel to live very much longer, not when he was already missing a leg and was getting on in years, but he also never expected to see the man’s head lopped off by a power-hungry tyrant hell-bent on gaining the prison by whatever means necessary. On the list of things Connor had expected to see during the apocalypse that hadn’t even made his top fifty.

He’s been panicking ever since the showdown took place and he lost track of Murphy. Murphy took off as soon as the tank breached the gates, charging into battle like he had a right to be there. Connor had screamed then, though no one had heard him with all the other noise surrounding them. Connor had cried Murphy’s name and used every trick in his arsenal of twin telepathy to try and bring Murphy back to him, but Murphy hadn’t turned around, hadn’t even glanced back, and Connor didn’t know where he was now.

Connor is panicking. And maybe that’s why he chances a glance at Beth, shivering slightly in restless sleep on a bed of tall grass, before plunking himself down beside Daryl.

Up until now Connor’s been pacing the floor, wearing holes into the earth itself, trying to figure out what to do about his current predicament. He has to find Murphy. Of course that’s the top priority. But he can’t just leave Daryl and Beth behind either. Daryl was technically the one to save his ass, and Beth’s, too, and Connor owes him that debt. Plus he knows that Murphy’s not dead, or at least he isn’t yet. He can still feel Murphy’s soul in him, raging and tearing him apart but still burning bright like a wildfire.

Connor takes deep breaths now, trying to calm himself, trying to think logically and make a plan. He’s always been the planner, the practical one. Murphy’s the dreamer. But no amount of dreaming is going to bring them back together, and so he must make a plan.

But for some reason his mind is completely blank and all he can feel is the body heat rolling off of Daryl’s exposed arms. Connor chances a glance at the hunter, meets blue eyes as hard as ice in the Antarctic, no chance of melting.

Part of Connor wants to shrink back, look away from that hardened and somehow judgmental gaze. But another part of him wants to cup the other man’s jaw in his hands, smooth his thumbs over the sharp cheekbones, and kiss him until they both forget everything that’s happened to them.

And suddenly, without even realizing it, Connor is doing exactly that. He brings one hand up and slides it over Daryl’s throat until he’s at the back of the man’s neck, and then he pulls Daryl forward until their lips meet.

Daryl’s mouth is slack at first, and that just makes Connor kiss him harder, rougher, adding more passion until he’s sure there’s none left inside of him. And that’s when the redneck stirs, his lips responding with sweet movement against Connor’s own, matching his heat and his lust and his need.

Connor loses himself in the kiss, lets his head swim with it, swim far away from the world and the events that have changed their lives so inexplicably. His tongue caresses Daryl’s lips, begging for more, and Daryl gives him that, opening his mouth just that much more and flicking his own tongue over Connor’s.

Connor’s other hand comes up, tangles itself in Daryl’s hair, tugs gently. Connor tilts his head back just slightly, taking the dominant position with their current angling, and damn near sticks his tongue down Daryl’s throat. Daryl doesn’t seem to mind though; he even moans good-naturedly.

And when Connor presses their chests together and pushes gently Daryl lets the man lay him down in the soft grass.

Connor slides over until he’s completely on top of Daryl, not even bothering to worry about whether or not he’ll crush the other man under his weight. He moans into Daryl’s mouth then sucks it right back into his own again, stealing Daryl’s breath along with it.

Connor’s becoming a little too closely acquainted with the clasp on his jeans, his head taking on a sex-fueled haze, and the color blue coats his vision, the same shade as Murphy’s eyes. And now all he can think about is Murphy. He sees the way Murphy’s eyes squeeze shut when he kisses, the way his throat curves upward when his head is tilted back, the way his dark hair shines and sticks in all different directions. He hears Murphy’s soft whimpers and cries, always meaning he wants more of whatever Connor’s giving him. He feels Murphy’s warm, smooth skin under his fingertips, feels the blood pulsing through his burning veins, feels every contour of Murphy’s body fitting snugly against his own.

Connor clutches fabric, his head swimming in a sea of Murphy, and he can’t help it when the man’s name ghosts from between his lips and falls onto the pair they’re still halfway connected to.

“Murphy.”

It’s just a breath but it feels like everything right in the world. Just the man’s name is like a mixed shot of adrenaline and heroin injected straight into his heart, awakening him and sharpening his every sense. Tears come into his eyes for no good reason except that he just _loves Murphy so fucking much._

But then his back is hitting the grass with a soft thud, and that gentle jarring brings him back to reality. His eyes shoot open, meet Daryl’s once more. There is a softness there now, as if the ice actually has melted.

Connor understands why Daryl pushed him away. He’s lucky to have gotten as far as he did in the first place.

He wants to apologize, but he can’t seem to push the words out of his throat. Daryl isn’t bothered by that, though. He simply lays down beside Connor, opens his arms, invites Connor into the embrace he so desperately needs. Connor inches his way into Daryl’s arms and rests his head on the man’s chest. The sound of the redneck’s heartbeat is calming, and his warmth is life-saving.

Connor pretends that Daryl is Murphy. It’s the only way he can drift to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got an idea for a new story in my head that's kind of bugging me to come out. I don't want to really start anything else until I've got this finished, but the problem is I don't know when this will be finished. I'm thinking I might end it soon, like within the next few chapters, because I don't really have anything more for it in terms of plot beyond what I've got here. I never really figured anything out when I started this story in the first place, just because the idea itself was so fantastic that I figured it could build itself as it went (which it did).   
> In any case, this will most likely be over pretty soon. I was thinking that I would turn this into a sort of series thing, or at least a two-parter, since I wanted to leave this part full of angst and possibilities. Plus this whole thing just seems pretty final to me, even though they're separated and there's no closure yet.   
> So it's all kind of up in the air right now. If I do decide to continue with this I will start up a different fic, a part two, for this one. I've seen other authors do that before, and it just seems like it'd be the right thing to do for this story.   
> Also, the new story that I want to work on will be a Walking Dead AU, mostly Dick pairing, as usual. But there's so much more to it than that, so that's not really a good description. But in case anyone wants to read it now you have something to look forward to. I'll post something more about it when I finish this story.


	16. All I Have Is One Last Chance; I Won't Turn My Back On You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really struggling on choosing a title for this chapter, not because I couldn't find one that fit, but because I found far too many.   
> I was at first going to name this chapter "Live For The Dying; I Know We Can Make It Out Alive", but then I changed it to "Stay With Me; You're All I Have Left", before finally settling on the one it is now.   
> And because of this fact I'd like to state that I think Into The Nothing and Without You by Breaking Benjamin are both very good songs for this story, so you should go give them a listen. 
> 
> That's all I've got to say for right now.  
> Enjoy the chapter, my loves.

 

Rick scrubs his hand over his beard before he even opens his eyes, knowing all too well what he’ll see once he does. He’s putting that off as long as possible, though he knows he can’t hide behind closed lids forever. 

 

The sound of a throat being cleared sounds from somewhere close by, and Rick has to work to hold back a chuckle. Murphy is being much more than impatient today, but he’ll just have to suck it up and deal with it, because Rick doesn’t feel like rushing himself right now. 

 

It’s a process for Rick to wake up lately. First he has to adjust to simply being aware, because he’s still a little fuzzy around the edges when he thinks. Second he has to open his eyes; the light is always much too harsh and bright and that causes him to squint, plus Murphy is often hovering somewhere in his line of sight, and that just makes him want to shut his eyes again. Third he has to move. Whether he’s tilting his head slightly or actually rising to his feet doesn’t matter; pain wracks his body in waves with every infinitesimal movement he makes. He tries to keep moving to a minimum, even though he knows he’ll have to push his body eventually, break it in past its limits once more. He’s done it before, and he’ll do it again. 

 

Finally, Rick slowly opens his eyes, and of course Murphy is standing above him. Murphy’s eyes are wide with concern that he’s not even trying to hide, staring down into Rick’s own like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. Rick huffs, but Murphy doesn’t move even a centimeter, much to Rick’s dismay. 

 

“Can’t get up if you’re standing in my space.” Rick says, his tone mired with sleep and not nearly as sharp as he wishes it could be. 

 

Murphy just grins and stays where he is. “Actually ye can’t get up without my help, so I’ll just pretend that’s what ye said instead.”

 

Rick grinds his teeth together. It’s going to be another long day. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

Rick sits on the couch with a paperback in his hands, trying to ignore the upbeat Irish handful sitting across from him at the kitchen table. The book isn’t something he ever would have picked up pre-apocalypse, but it’s actually pretty good given the circumstances. He can’t seem to lose himself in it, though, and that’s only partially due to the fact that he can barely focus on the words with his still somewhat swimmy vision. 

 

Murphy is cleaning his guns again, wiping down the barrel with a small, stained rag. He does it every day, at least two or three times a day. He never really focuses on the guns as he takes them apart and puts them together, looking everywhere but at the shiny metal as he polishes the separate pieces. Those guns haven’t been fired since the showdown a few days ago, and Rick wonders why Murphy’s bothering to clean them so much, but he never asks as much. 

 

But even so, Rick can feel Murphy’s eyes burning a hole through him, and it’s making him lose his precious little focus. Without sparing the young man a glance, he says, “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

 

Murphy chuckles softly, but the sound is grim, a shadow of what it once was. Rick can tell without even looking that there is no humor on the other man’s expression, and that his eyes are hooded and dark. “Not really.”

 

“Then would you be so kind as to go clean your guns somewhere else, and maybe stop staring at me so much?” Rick glances up then, his eyes meeting Murphy’s, giving him a glare.

 

Murphy is unfazed by Rick’s look, or his tone. He simply shakes his head and begins putting the gun back together. “Gotta watch ye, t’ make sure ye ain’t about t’ go into convulsions ‘r something. That asshole beat ye pretty good.”

 

Rick grumbles something unintelligible, and returns his eyes to the lines on the pages in front of him. “I’m a grown ass man, and I don’t need your help.”

 

“Really? ‘Cause if I hadn’t intervened ye’d be dead right now.” 

 

Rick lets the book fall from his hands and slam down on the table, where it slumps on its side and closes with a soft ruffle of pages. His eyes narrow and he levels Murphy with a vicious glare, which Murphy matches with an intensity Rick is almost surprised by. 

 

“I had the situation under control.” Rick tries to keep his voice calm, but the anger is leaking through, infusing his tone with a hard edge. 

 

“No, ye didn’t.” Murphy retorts, no bullshit. “That guy had his hands wrapped ‘round your throat, an’ he wasn’t gonna stop squeezing ‘til ye stopped movin’. Ye were pretty close t’ blackin’ out as it was.”

 

Rick silently fumes. Murphy is right, and he knows that, but the stubborn side of him doesn’t want to admit that. He’s trying to think of a good response to what Murphy’s just said, but his mind is drawing a blank. 

 

So he just says the first thing that pops into his head. “Why did you help me, anyway?”

 

Murphy just shrugs, seemingly unaffected by the question. “Was the right thing t’ do.”

 

“Don’t give me that crap.” Rick barks out something resembling a laugh before continuing. “You left everyone behind and came charging across the field to help me. You left your brother fighting next to people he probably couldn’t give two shits about. You even left Daryl behind. All just to help me. You could have easily left me there to die, called it a casualty of war, and let it slide right off your back. No one was going to fault you for not darting out to save me when they wouldn’t have done that either. So, again, why did you help me?”

 

Murphy huffs, his cheeks burning a soft pink color. Rick takes notice of the blush, liking the way it rests on the other man’s pale cheeks, remembering when he used to be able to make Daryl flush that way. But Rick snaps himself out of that line of thought before it gets any worse, returning his attention to the matter at hand.

 

“I did it for Daryl.” Is Murphy’s short, yet profound, answer.

 

Rick’s eyes narrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

 

Murphy shakes his head, more at Rick’s stupidity than anything, and continues. “Daryl loves ye a hell of a lot more‘n he’ll ever love me. Yeah, I coulda stayed behind, fought with the others, an’ tried t’ keep me, my brother, and Daryl all together in the aftermath, and let ye die. But if Daryl had known ye died then he would’ve died, too. He would’ve made sure ‘a that. So I saved you for him, for when the day comes that we all reconnect I could give ye back to him and make sure he’s happy.”

 

Murphy rises from the table and leaves, taking his guns with him. Rick stares after him, his mind trying to process the new information, his chest filled with too many mixed emotions to even attempt to sort. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

Rick pants in short, heaving breaths as he thrusts into Murphy once more before finishing. His ribs hurt like hell and his heart feels like a jackhammer in his chest, but it’s worth it, in a weird sort of way. Part of him understands why Daryl strayed so often to the man underneath him. 

 

They are on the couch, Murphy on his back on the cushions with his hips propped up by a pillow or two, Rick in front of him with one foot planted on the floor and one shoved so far into the cushions he’s sure he’s made a permanent indent into the padding. Rick is just barely managing to hold himself up by gripping the back of the couch with hand and forearm, and Murphy doesn’t dare move a muscle until Rick decides to adjust, because even a flinch could make the ex-sheriff fall and hurt himself. 

 

Rick flushes heat, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed, and tries to avert his gaze away from Murphy. But Murphy’s eyes are just too captivating, and they draw him into their warm waters, coax him into staying there. 

 

And that makes something inside of him flare anger. Is this what Daryl saw when he would finish with Murphy? Is this what made Daryl turn his back on Rick?

 

Rick wants to hit something, wants to hit Murphy, but he has a much better idea. 

 

Rick reaches down and swiftly pulls his Colt from its place in his holster on the floor, then swings his arm up and points the gun at Murphy’s face, the barrel not even an inch away from the man’s nose. Murphy doesn’t even blink. 

 

“I could kill you right now. Take Carl with me and leave your dead body here to rot. No one would ever find out. I could tell the others that we got overrun in a herd, that they tore you apart before I could save you. Everyone would give me their condolences, but they wouldn’t condemn me. And after a while they wouldn’t care about you anymore.”

 

Murphy doesn’t speak, simply stares up at Rick with unwavering eyes. Those eyes are challenging Rick, their expression practically screaming at him _“do it!”_

 

Rick’s lips press into a thin line as he regards Murphy, his arm falling just slightly. “Don’t you have anything to say to that?”

 

Murphy shrugs then flicks his tongue out, drawing it up the length of the gun’s barrel. He keeps his eyes locked on Rick as he does this, playing seductress and flirting with death all at the same time. Because he knows Rick won’t pull that trigger, not now that he’s got a taste of what Daryl so pined for. 

 

Murphy flicks the tip of the Colt once more before drawing his tongue back into his mouth. 

 

“Tastes like you, only sweeter.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, friends, this is officially the end of the story.   
> I know some of you may think this is too open ended, but I don't see it that way. I rather like the idea of the two groups remaining separated, unsure of whether or not they'll find each other again, allowing new relationships to blossom. But I'd rather leave the rest to your imaginations, because I have neither the time or the thought process necessary to continue on and make this story longer and explore the new aspects. I never really planned to go any further than this with the story, anyway.   
> So I hope you're not all too frightfully angry with me, and you come to see how final this chapter truly is. 
> 
> Now for the song list, which I provide at the end of all my chapter fics. Album names that are known to me will be in parenthesis. 
> 
> 1\. Animals ~ Nickelback (All The Right Reasons)  
> 2\. I'm Losing Sight, Don't Count On Me ~ Lyric from the song Follow by Breaking Benjamin (We Are Not Alone)  
> 3\. Madness In Me ~ Skillet (Rise)  
> 4\. I Can Tell By Your Smile You're Coming Undone ~ Lyric from the song Walk Away From The Sun by Seether (Finding Beauty In Negative Spaces)  
> 5\. Take Me Under ~ Three Days Grace (Three Days Grace)  
> 6\. Don't Let Me Drown ~ Lyric from the song Waters Rising by Altar Bridge (Fortress)  
> 7\. Give In, Give In To Sight ~ Lyric from a Disturbed song, can't remember the name of it.   
> 8\. No Games ~ Breaking Benjamin (Saturate)  
> 9\. I Feel Disdain Just Like You Do; I Feel Decayed ~ Lyric from the song Waste by Seether (Finding Beauty In Negative Spaces)  
> 10\. Can't See The Silver Lining Down Here On The Floor ~ Lyric from the song Trying Not To Love You by Nickelback (Here and Now)  
> 11\. I Said I Loved You And I Swear I Still Do ~ Lyric from the song How You Remind Me by Nickelback (Silver Side Up)  
> 12\. I Know I Said I'm Sorry, But That's Not What I Meant To Say ~ Lyric from a Daughtry song that I don't know the name of  
> 13\. Counting All The Assholes In The Room, Well I'm Definitely Not Alone ~ Lyric from the song Still Counting by Volbeat (Beyond Hell/Above Heaven)  
> 14\. Now I Know What Empty Is ~ Lyric from a song by Lifehouse that I don't know the name of  
> 15\. I Pulled You Closer, Tighter, Because I Knew You'd Disappear ~ Lyric from the song M.I.N.E (End This Way) by Five Finger Death Punch (The Wrong Side Of Heaven And The Righteous Side Of Hell Volume 1)  
> 16\. All I Have Is One Last Chance; I Won't Turn My Back On You ~ Lyric from the song Without You by Breaking Benjamin (Dear Agony)
> 
> I think we can safely call this the story of the profound chapter titles.   
> As always, I highly recommend these songs to everyone who hasn't heard them before, because they are incredible, and a lot of them actually fit the story quite well. 
> 
> I also really hope you enjoyed taking this roller coaster ride with me. This story was different from anything I'd ever tried to write before, and was an incredible journey. I thank you all for your comments and support, especially my dear friend Ghosty, who is pretty much my cheerleader when it comes to my writing, and my other good friend MacManusChick (who I almost referred to as my senpai), who I respect so dearly and always gives me fantastic feedback on my work. Much love to the both of them, with enough left over for the rest of you lovely readers. 
> 
> I do have another story in mind that I'm hoping to start soon. I'm not sure what the title is yet, but it will be another Dick AU, for those who are interested in reading it. Hope to see you all there. 
> 
> Goodbye, friends. I am gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Trying something a little different out with this fic. So a bit of feedback on all of this would be really great; you all know how much I love opinions on my work. Kudos would be nice as well, because who doesn't like being told they're doing a good job? Thank you all so much for reading.


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